The Shadows of our Past
by Fluorine
Summary: Jason and Nicky take it upon themselves to shut down Director Dewey's far-reaching Ironhand program while struggling to outrun it. But from the darkness rises an unexpected shadow that may swallow Jason whole before Ironhand gets a chance. Will he come to peace with his demons and succeed in his mission? Or will the ghost of Treadstone past prove fatal?
1. Chapter 1 - Take it on the Lam

**Author's Note:** This is my latest story that serves as a sort of rewrite of the lastest movie, Jason Bourne. Though it is loosely based on the movie, you do not have to have seen the movie to understand everything, because like I mentioned, the plot is only very loosely based on the movie. However, it might help a bit with understanding the supporting characters since I will focus mainly on Jason's perspective. This takes place in the movie universe ten years after the original trilogy ended. Reviews really help me by evaluating my writing and are greatly encouraged!

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Take it on the Lam**

* * *

 _Syntagma Square._ Protesters swarmed the streets in an ever-expanding bubble of destruction and chaos. Severely understaffed police forces in full riot gear tried to push back at the edges of the bubble, but made little progress. Lighted bottles filled with gasoline, or Molotov cocktails, were hurled at police, as were various other items such as bricks, rocks, and open bags of fecal matter. Rioters would run up to barricades and kick them over, while some others would simply jump the barricades and charge full speed at the police. Dozens of arrests were made, but with so many other emergencies to attend to, dozens more escaped and continued to wreak havoc. Cars were burned, buildings were looted, and the authorities could only hope that the military police would arrive before the entire city fell apart at its foundation.

Nicky watched the chaos unfold from the window of a metro bus. Despite the anarchy materializing around the city, buses offered a strange place of solace for the citizens who were not as zealous as their enraged counterparts. A terrified woman held two small children against her. Other riders glanced nervously from window to window. The bus driver was in constant communication with other drivers in the area via radio. They warned each other where the riots would get worse, or pointed out where police had successfully made a path through the protesters.

Nicky knew that she would be watched and followed. But she was no longer the simple Treadstone logistical coordinator she used to be. Years of running from the government taught her many tricks and skills that she constantly practiced and put into practice. Hiding in the crowd of a massive riot made it a nightmare for anyone trying to track her. The police forces stationed no more than 50 feet apart from each other was an added bonus.

Years ago, Jason Bourne had used this very same tactic to abduct her and interrogate her in Berlin. He had ordered her to get on the train as a large crowd marched through the area, giving him plenty of cover from the Blackbriar operatives and security cameras. A harrowing experience for Nicky, but an educational one still.

 _Jason Bourne_. He was the man she needed to find in this crowd, but if there was anything else that she had learned from her time on the run with Jason, it is that you don't find Jason Bourne; Jason Bourne finds you.

He found her standing by a bus stop, a rare peaceful area that was within spitting distance of the protest. An occasional rioter or two would run by, but nothing too crazy happened there. It was a risk, stepping out into a relatively open area that was separated from the main protest, but she was willing to take that risk to help Jason find her. He needed to know.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His tone was pressing, but he didn't demand that she tell him everything he needed to know right there and then. She might have even thought he sounded concerned.

"I work with Christian Dassault," she said. "I have the black ops files."

"Jesus, Nicky..." Jason looked around nervously. "He's going to get you killed," he warned.

"I'm not asking you to help me. I just want you to take a look."

"No." He shook his head. "I'm done."

"They mention your father," Nicky ventured.

An explosion near the protest rocked the ground and Jason whirled around before leaning in closer to Nicky. "My father was just an analyst," he said in a low voice. "What does he have to do with anything?"

Nicky looked over Jason's shoulder nervously, watching a platoon of police officers run towards the source of the explosion. She looked down and turned her body away from the squad car that whizzed past them, sirens blaring. Jason too turned his face away from the car, and both of them were huddled together, facing the empty bus stop. The car passed, and they turned back to face each other.

"I don't know, but that's not all. Before you joined Treadstone, they were watching you."

"Watching me?" Jason asked incredulously.

"Please, just..." she paused. "You need to see them," she said finally.

Jason turned around, and saw two men walking towards them, keeping up an unusually fast pace. They paid no attention to the concerned citizens breaking around them like water around a rock. They were focused forward and Jason knew.

"We have to go," he said to Nicky. "Circle back around here in ten minutes. I'll draw them away."

He turned his entire body towards the two men, giving them plenty of a target to follow. One of the men pointed directly at Jason, and they sped up. _They really needed to work on not alerting their targets that they're being followed_ , he thought. Nicky looked back at Jason worriedly before hurrying off in the opposite direction. Once again, the chase was on.

...

Jason had found a bike and quickly located Nicky, who fearlessly jumped onto the back. The asset's car was not far behind them, and despite the motorcycle's superior handling around tight corners, the asset had proved to be a more than capable driver, managing to keep up with them in his bulky sedan. It wasn't until Jason toppled a flaming barrel onto the road did the asset finally give up the chase. His car in flames, the asset quickly ran through a series of buildings to chase them on foot. The bike continued to swerve through pedestrians and road blocks. They had lost the asset, but Jason suspected that wasn't the last they would see of him.

"Stay low!" Bourne yelled behind him. There were police barricades seemingly at every turn, forcing him into a linear, predictable, and most of all, dangerous route. This upcoming stretch of street was long and narrow with barely any cover. If he was planning to take someone out during a bike chase, he would have chosen this street himself. It was too easy for any sniper, and far too easy for an asset, nonetheless. He knew the shot would come from behind.

He looked behind and saw Nicky, clinging onto him for dear life. The asset would get to her first.

Jason slammed on the brakes, lurching the bike to a halt. Jason jumped off the bike before it even came to a complete stop, jumping back on the bike right behind Nicky.

"What are you doing?" she shouted above the roar of the engine.

Jason didn't answer, only gripped onto the handlebars and revved the engine back to life, speeding down the narrow street. Nicky huddled over in her seat, grabbing onto the front of the bike now that she couldn't hold onto Jason for support. Her eyes watered and stung slightly as the wind whipped by her face. Jason was trying to stay as low as possible, and was almost completely leaning on her.

At first Nicky thought the sound was a car backfiring, but when Jason tumbled backward off the bike, she knew that he had been hit. She faced a most difficult decision. Go down the path of survival and easily outrun the asset. But what of the guilt of leaving Jason behind? Go down the other path and try to save Jason. She would most certainly die. Her mind begged her to run, but her heart would not let her.

Another shot rang out and she didn't have to make a decision. She fell off the bike and it slid into a wall where it crashed into a doorway.

Jason rolled over and quickly dragged his body to cover behind an abandoned car with broken windows. He looked over to the street and saw that Nicky had been taken off the bike. She lay on her back, hand over her stomach. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and Jason could hear her gasping for breath.

"Nicky!" he cried out.

It took him a few moments to register the gunshot wound in his shoulder blade. He grunted in pain as he tried to crawl over to Nicky. The bullet was lodged in his left shoulder, and he shifted his weight to his right side, letting his legs do most of the pushing. His progress was slow but steady. The most important thing he kept in mind was to make sure he wasn't in view of the asset. But since the shot came from behind, it was difficult to know what the asset could and could not see.

"Jas-" Nicky could barely choke his name out.

Jason was hovering above her now, propped up on his elbow. Blood pooled under Nicky's body, stretching out in an ever-growing puddle. A single tear made its way from the corner of her eye down towards her ear. He looked into her eyes and for perhaps the first time, he saw fear. Jason had always known Nicky as a tough and resilient operative, who would without a second thought put herself out on the line for the sake of what she believed in. She first demonstrated her resilience when she went on the run with him, even helping get the Blackbriar asset Desh off his back. Being able to run for ten years showed a special kind of strength, but seeing her like this seriously worried Jason, and Jason Bourne rarely ever worries.

"Hold on, Nicky..."

He tore off a section of his jacket and balled it up, looking down at her wound. She understood and gave a single nod before Jason pressed down over her stomach. She cried out loud as pain shook her but held back from screaming all together, eventually holding the scrap of fabric herself.

A light from behind his eyes blinded him and suddenly he was underwater, looking into the unresponsive face of Marie. Her hair shimmered about her in the murky waters. Her body was lifeless and suspended ethereally. An overwhelming sense of dread came over him.

"Pocket," Nicky managed to whisper.

Jason snapped back into reality and looked down, seeing Nicky's long hair splayed out over her face and the ground, eerily similar to how he remembered Marie. She looked like a marionette puppet whose strings had been cut. Her hand went to her pocket. She struggled to pull whatever it was out, and Jason helped her. It was a locker key. He quickly took it and put it into his own pocket.

He took her wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. There was a steady beat, but it was incredibly weak. Her breathing was beginning to slow and Jason feared the worst. Her hand moved beneath his grip, and he found her hand slipping into his. Her hand was sticky with blood, but he held her anyway. She struggled to gulp down air. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, but her strength was beginning to wane.

A third gunshot rang out, striking Jason in the back. He nearly collapsed on top of Nicky, but managed to fall to the side instead. He lay there still, facing Nicky, their fingers still intertwined.

The rumble of a helicopter grew louder, and Jason saw a flash of a spotlight before it pointed itself at a tall building on the corner of the narrow street. He realized that the building must have been the place where the asset was positioned. The helicopter meant that the police had found the asset, forcing the asset to stand down. For now, they were safe.

"Remember us-" Nicky's voice trailed off as her eyes fluttered shut. Jason heard the crunch of tires on the street, and he too fell unconscious.

* * *

 _"It was...difficult for me...with you." Nicky stared straight at him, gaze unwavering._

 _They were sitting in a cafe, on the run. Bourne stared blankly back at her, understanding and yet not understanding at the same time. In that moment, he realized what she was hinting at, but her entire person seemed unfamiliar to him. Across her face a flash of disappointment came and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Bourne saw that she wanted him to remember. He wanted to remember._

 _"You really don't remember anything." she said matter-of-factly._

 _He continued his blank stare, a part of him believing, hoping even, that if he looked into her eyes long enough, some part of his brain would set off an avalanche of memories that would all fall into place. He stared..._

 _"No."_

* * *

Bourne woke with a start. Fluorescent light shone in his eyes and he squinted as his pupils contracted. He looked down at himself and realized he was in a cot but not in a hospital. His shoulder still felt sore and he reached up a hand to rub it when he saw his hands were cuffed to the cot. Of course they were.

"Nicky...?" he said softly as he turned his head to scan the room. No one else. He groaned as he lay back down. A pounding headache had moved from the back of his head to the front. His whole body seemed to sway from side to side, though he wasn't sure if that was real or just the headache messing with his senses. He even seemed to smell a slight saltiness in the air.

A door opened and a woman with a low ponytail waked in. Bourne saw she was unarmed and wasn't even wearing a proper uniform for either a doctor or nurse. She was casually dressed in jeans and a flowery top.

"Who are you?" he asked, almost demanding.

"You're on a boat, Jason. Nicky Parsons is next door, resting and recovering."

As part of his training, Jason received no small amount of interrogations training, both on how to successfully extract information and how to guard it. One of the basics of questioning was the idea that information is power. When the woman gave Jason information that he didn't even ask for, she was essentially giving up her power for nothing. Usually that meant she was an ally, but he kept his guard up, just in case it was part of a good-cop-bad-cop tactic.

"Is she okay?" he asked, hopeful.

"She's unconscious but stable. Bullet went clean through her back and out the front. Perforated liver, but she'll be fine."

He decided to push his luck. "Let me see her."

"After we talk," she said firmly.

"Why are you holding us?" Jason questioned.

"We aren't holding you. We're saving your lives," the woman responded. But here..." She pulled a key from her pocket and undid each of the cuffs, much to Jason's surprise. He thought she surely would have put up much more of a fight in taking them off.

Jason's eyes narrowed. She knew his name, so surely she must know he was from Treadstone, and yet she still decided to talk to him with nothing but a pair of flimsy cuffs to stop him from beating all the answers out of her? And now she has even removed that one last safeguard.

"Who are you?" Jason asked.

The door swung open again and a man walked in. He looked powerfully built, but was not excessively bulky. He too was casually dressed, wearing a polo, shorts, and sandals. He folded his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He gave a big grin to Jason, who returned only with a steely gaze. The man's wide grin slowly faded and he looked back at the woman, who shrugged. She returned her attention to Bourne.

"Jason. My name is Marta Shearing and this is my associate, Aaron Cross."


	2. Chapter 2 - Treadstone meets Outcome

**Author's note:** New chapter! As always, reviews are much appreciated. Huge thanks goes to the wonderful belladonna78 for editing!

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Treadstone Meets Outcome**

* * *

"That wasn't normal."

Heather Lee sat back in her heavy office chair opposite Dewey's desk. She looked down at the small placard that sat proudly in the foreground of the mess of mission reports and authorization documents that he called his workspace. It read Director Robert Dewey. Director. Now wasn't that a nice title that would suit herself quite nicely? Dewey was old. Outdated. He relied on the smarts and innovation of Aaron Kalloor to empower his efforts in amassing a truly central intelligence.

"Pardon?" He said, looking up from a report Heather doubted he was even reading.

"The way the asset behaved, I mean. He stayed and waited to get that last shot in, and I'm convinced that if we weren't choking him with his own leash, he would've killed the police who came onsite and then waited to get another shot at Bourne."

Dewey frowned and went back to his report. "Well it's a good thing he's on a leash then, right? This is why we still need these programs, Heather. You need to get with it."

"Do the asset and Bourne have history?" Heather asked the condemning question. The query seemed to drop onto Dewey's desk with a force that would have made a medium sized hole in the mahogany, had her question been a physical object. His forehead crinkled as he raised his eyebrows. He sighed and leaned forward, folding his hands on top of his report, which Heather was now absolutely sure he was not actually reading.

"Why do you need to know?" asked Dewey.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" she countered.

"Because it's not important."

"Bullshit. If the asset is getting emotionally involved, it could jeopardize the whole operation. I can't run point on this operation if my people have secrets," Heather glared at Dewey.

"He's not 'your people', he's my people."

Heather shook her head. "You gave me full operational control. Your people become my people."

"If you can't handle secrets then don't run point. I'll put someone else on this," Dewey said cheerfully.

"You can't. I'm already neck deep into this. No one knows this mission like I do now."

Dewey stared straight at Heather. She stared back, gaze unwavering, determination shining brightly in her eyes. His resolve finally gave.

"You're persistent," he quipped.

"You noticed," she quipped back.

He gave a slight grin before speaking again. "The last time Bourne surfaced years ago he exposed the Blackbriar program. Had to shut everything down, including a deep cover mission in Syria. The asset was blown and later tortured. Took us two damn years to get him out. History? That's a mild way of putting it."

"So you think Bourne wants to go public again?"

Dewey shook his head. "I have no idea why Bourne is back. But he's going to tear us apart, one way or another, and we have to stop him."

* * *

"Have you heard of operation Outcome?" Cross asked Bourne.

Here he was, face to face with one of the CIA's newer generations of hitmen. Years ago he had read a bit about Outcome in the papers a few months after deputy director Noah Vosen, director Ezra Kramer, and Dr. Alfred Hirsh were arrested and indicted for treason, among other things. Rumor had it, these assets were not only exceptionally trained, but they were given medication that permanently enhanced their physical and mental strength. He had fought the entirety of Treadstone and Blackbriar with relative ease, but he felt slightly uneasy facing this new breed of genetically enhanced Blackbriar upgrades.

"Rings a bell," Jason replied casually. "I thought the program was shut down and all the assets tied off."

"Not just the assets, Jason." Aaron looked at Marta. "They tried to take out the scientists who made the program possible, but thanks to her, we made it out alive. We've been on the run ever since." Marta smiled as Aaron put his arm around her.

Jason found the heart to return a weak smile. They had achieved what he had found to be almost impossible. To be completely free of the system, off the grid and left alone. To be honest with himself, he was almost jealous.

"I think I should check on Nicky," Marta said.

"Sure thing, Doc." Marta got up and began walking to the back end of the boat.

"What happened after you left Outcome?" Jason asked.

"A few weeks after we left Manila, they sent another asset after us. I think he was LARX. Managed to get rid of him and lose my tail, and we went back into hiding. About seven years later, I run into Nicky Parsons asking that I give her any information I might have on Outcome or Emerald Lake, as well as any files Dr. Shearing might have regarding the chem side of the program, with the NRAG. My guess is she was trying to gather as much information she could from anyone else who left the beta programs without directly hacking the CIA mainframe and drawing attention to herself."

"And you trusted her? She was former CIA," Bourne questioned.

"Actually, I didn't run into her. She found me. We were in hiding and she gave me a tip about an Ironhand asset that had been given my location and a kill order. There were about a dozen ground teams in play, made it nearly impossible for us to escape even with the intel she gave us. She saved our lives. You could say I felt a little indebted to give her what information I had. Not that what I had was any good to me anyway. Marta managed to retrieve some of her work back when she was with Sterisyn-Morlanta."

"How did you find us in Greece?" Jason asked.

"The same Ironhand asset who found you two last night was the same one who found me. I had been playing cat and mouse with him over the last few years. Sometimes he would show up on the grid and I'd try to chase him down. Last night was lucky. His passport popped up in Athens and next thing I hear, the radio waves are buzzing with the kill order for you and Nicky. Unfortunately I got there just as Nicky went down. Nicky got to the hospital and it took a while but they stabilized her. Marta managed to get her out while I grabbed you from the police station."

Jason couldn't believe his luck and was nearly speechless. "Thank you," he managed to say in a whisper. "This boat is yours?" he asked.

"A friend let us use it. Told him we were going on a small vacation. Athens is lovely this time of year, with all the riots and whatnot," Aaron smirked.

There was a sharp knock behind Jason, and he turned around. Marta was peering over from behind a corner.

"Jason. She's awake."

* * *

Nicky's head swam and her stomach felt like she had swallowed the very fires of hell itself, even though her whole body felt cold. When her eyes first opened to the bright lights overhead, she saw double. A few hard blinks and deep breaths restored her vision. The door opened and in walked Marta.

"Marta?" Nicky asked, her voice low and raspy.

"Hello, Nicky. Are you up for talking?"

Nicky swallowed hard and nodded her head slowly. Her neck felt awfully sore, and even that small movement sent her headache rushing back. She closed her eyes and pressed further back into her pillow. "Yeah, I think I can talk."

"Do you remember what happened to you?" Marta asked.

Nicky thought for a moment before responding. "Syntagma Square. Uh, we were on a bike. Jason switched seats with me and then he got hit. Then I got hit. I was on the ground. I think I remember hearing a third gunshot. "

"Jason took that one for you," Marta said quietly.

"He what?" Nicky shook her head and closed her eyes again. In her mind, she knew that Jason had taken it for her, but hearing someone else say that meant it was real. What was he thinking anyway?

"He shouldn't have."

"What?" Marta returned, slightly stunned.

"I signed up for this. I know the risks of being a whistleblower. I know what this could cost."

"So did he when he took that bullet for you."

"I dragged him into this. All I wanted was for him to find peace, not put himself on the line for me. That doesn't accomplish anything." Nicky reached out for the remote that controlled the cot, but it was too far out of reach. Marta held it out for her and she grabbed it.

"Is that why you do this?" Marta asked. "Running around, hiding from the CIA, leaking a few files here and there. Bringing down the programs so that he doesn't have to run anymore?"

"Where is he?" Nicky asked, dodging Marta's question. She pressed one of the buttons on the remote and her bed began to slowly tilt forward, bringing her into a more comfortable sitting position. She groaned as her wound tugged at itself.

"I'll get him."

* * *

Jason stood in the doorway, mouth twisted into a half smile. It had been years since he had seen Nicky, and on the first day they reconnect she nearly dies right in front of him. When faced with the possibility that their meeting in Athens could have been the last time he saw her alive, he realized he had felt something he rarely ever felt: fear. A million gunshots could sound off in his ears, and he would march on, unfazed. A highly trained asset could be bearing down on him in a speeding SUV and he would keep his cool. No, this was a different type of fear. Not fear for himself, but for someone else. He hadn't felt this fear since India. _India_.

"Hi." Jason said softly.

"Hey." Nicky offered back with a weak grin. She looked on edge, despite the way her disheveled hair fell about her shoulders.

Marta leaned against the doorway next to Aaron, inclining her head towards the living room, hoping he would get her hint. Aaron's eyes lit up in understanding, smirking.

"Aaron, don't you have to check on the, um-"

"-fuel."

"-map."

They both spoke simultaneously. _God, we are so obvious_ , Marta thought to herself.

"We'll be outside." Marta said quickly, gesturing with her thumb. Aaron nodded enthusiastically, and pointed with his thumb, but in the opposite direction. He looked at her and quickly realized his mistake, putting his hand down and pointing vigorously in the correct direction. Nicky nearly burst out laughing at the couple's awkward attempt to give them some space. Marta and Aaron walked off slowly. Nicky looked up at Jason.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like shit." Nicky replied flatly.

"That tends to happen when you get shot. Trust me, I know." Jason almost laughed.

Nicky smiled weakly.

"Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me."

"In the future you shouldn't try to save me." Her gaze drifted off and she stared into nowhere in particular. "For your own sake," she added.

Jason folded his arms across his chest. "It's for my sake I _did_ save you."

"You could've died."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said nonchalantly. "My entire life, I've run that risk."

"But still..." Nicky took a deep breath. "Everything I've done these past ten years is so that I don't have to run anymore. So that fugitives like Aaron and Marta don't have to run anymore. So that _you_ don't have to run anymore."

"You feel responsible, is that it?" Jason pressed.

"For them? Partly. You? Completely."

"You're not responsible for them. Or me. I chose this life," Jason said definitively. He could tell Nicky was determined to bear the blame for who he was and what he had become, but he was equally determined to not let her. She had started down a self-destructive path, carved out with the shards of Jason's broken life, hoping it would lead her to redemption. But for ten years, she had barely gotten anywhere. Program after program would spring up, ready to take its fallen predecessor's place. Ironhand was the tenth iteration, and whether or not it went down, Nicky would continue to fight it, pull at the loose threads until the horrifying tapestry unravelled itself to the public.

"I'm not like you, Jason. You can forgive yourself because you can't remember. I remember everything I've done. I won't forgive myself until this is finished."

"They will never be finished!" Jason almost shouted. Nicky looked up, startled. "Ever since Treadstone shut down, nine new programs have come up. I've been on the run for a long time now and they will never give up hunting me. Only one thing matters: survival. That's my victory. If I can stay alive, I've beaten them. I'll continue to beat them. But shutting down the system completely? It's impossible."

"If surviving is everything to you, why risk your life for mine?" Nicky challenged, raising her voice.

"Why would you risk your life trying to set me free?"

Nicky scoffed. "You really don't remember? Anything?"

"Why do you keep asking that?"

Her face fell and she looked hurt. "Because if you could remember, you wouldn't need to ask why I would risk my life for you."

Jason felt like his very mind was tugging at a memory in a physical way, but he could only draw blanks where memories were supposed to be. He had had this conversation with Nicky before. She knew him, and he suspected their interactions weren't limited to her giving him orders in Paris. She seemed familiar with him, to him. But for her to risk her life for him? Jason opened his mouth and started to search for words, but Nicky cut him off. "If you want to give up and hide, that's your choice. I can't force you to help me. But before you hide and _have your victory_ , go to Larissa Railway Station. There's a locker with all the black ops files on a flash drive. They mention your father."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "I told you, he was just an analyst. He was killed in a terrorist attack."

"That's not all." Nicky shook her head. "I don't know what else, but there was more to him than that. Please, just take a look. It's important."

She looked hurt, and not just from her gunshot wound. Twice now, she had asked if he remembered anything, and he was frustrated he still could not. Jason looked away and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Nicky, I'm sorry I-"

"It's okay." She sounded calm.

Jason looked back at her. "After the crash, when you were on the ground," he began slowly, "you asked me to 'remember us'. What does that-"

"Don't worry about it," she said quickly. Their eyes met. "I was dying. I don't know what I said." Jason was about to protest and remind her that she still had the presence of mind to give him her locker key, but from her face saw that she wasn't ready to discuss whatever it was she meant.

"I can't take them down alone. I'll need your help to do it."

Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He turned it over in his hand a few times.

"Locker number 1394. Find the truth," Nicky said.

* * *

Jason walked through the station to the lockers. A row of security cameras kept watch at the entrance, but he quickly blended in with a large tourist group as he moved through to the 1300's row. His eyes scanned the hundreds of lockers and found number 1394. He inserted the key and opened, the rusted hinges squeaking in protest.

A sinking feeling materialized directly in his gut when he looked inside. He stuck his head inside the locker, examining the walls, behind the door hinge, fingers pressing into the back to look for a false bottom. He stood back and made sure the number he had was correct.

 _1394._

Everything was in order, except for the one problem that the locker was completely empty.


	3. Chapter 3 - Cyber Ops 101

**Chapter 3 - Cyber Ops 101**

* * *

Nicky was able to move around and walk, much to Jason's delight. In a stroke of luck, the bullet had missed her spine, however the entry and exit wounds still caused her a great deal of pain. Today she sat at the dining table, hands clasped around a cup of coffee that Aaron had made. Four sugar, no cream. Back in her days with Treadstone, she would often rely on coffee to get her through the early mornings, but didn't have the luxury of spending time perfecting the right amount of cream and sugar, quickly learning to take her coffee black. Eventually she would return to adding sugar, but for some reason the cream still seemed off-putting. Despite being shut down for years, Treadstone had managed to run a small part of Nicky's life.

"What do you mean it's empty?" She asked incredulously.

"Locker 1394. Completely empty. Are you sure-"

"Of course I'm sure." she said, offended that Jason would question her. She may not be a killing machine, but she was still a skilled operative with highly retentive memories, nonetheless. Not that it took much to remember where she put files, anyway. "I put the files in the locker before I went to meet you in the square."

The boat rocked back and forth gently. They were about 20 miles off the coast of Alimos, south of Athens. The midday sun creeped across the clear sky above the mast, casting strange shadows on the deck.

Aaron paced back and forth in the middle of the room, chewing on the end of his sunglasses. "Well the files didn't get up and walk away. Someone must have taken them."

"Who else had access to that locker?" Jason asked.

Nicky shook her head. "No one."

"Someone got in anyway. I mean, what if someone broke in? Considering who we're up against, it wouldn't be beyond their abilities to break into a public locker," Aaron pointed out.

Nicky's eyes lit up. "Christian Dassault."

Aaron stopped pacing and took his sunglasses out of his mouth. "Christian Dassault?"

"Who's Christian Dassault?" Marta asked, looking at Aaron.

"I work with him." Nicky shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You work with the Christian Dassault? My god." Aaron began, bewildered. "He's the one who got caught hacking the NSA and when they tried to arrest him, he blew up half the cars on his street as a diversion. NSA and CIA have been looking for him for years."

"I told him about the files. If he tracked me to Athens, he could've gotten them if he thought I died."

"That sonofabitch..." Aaron muttered.

"We need to find him," Jason said. "Call him. Tell him you want to meet."

"I'll have to use a burner phone. He's paranoid," Nicky explained.

Aaron pulled a flip phone out of his pocket, and tossed it to Nicky, who caught it. "It's clean," he said. Nicky punched in a number and put the phone up to her ear.

"What if it's not him?" Aaron asked, looking to Jason. "I mean, what if Christian isn't our guy?"

"There were security cameras at the lockers. If he doesn't have the files, he can get us whoever broke into that locker. Either way, we need to talk to him," Jason reasoned. Aaron nodded in agreement.

"Knightrider for Titan," Nicky started. After a pause, Jason could hear static on the line. Then, a response.

"Titan secure on one," Jason could faintly hear.

"Aaron. Can I talk to you for a sec?" Marta asked quietly.

"Sure, Doc."

Both of them got up and left the room. Jason watched as they exited.

"You're not planning to go with them, are you?" Marta asked in a hushed voice.

Aaron shrugged and looked back towards the room. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You've been out for ten years. They haven't found us for ten years-"

"-well, except for that one time they had us completely surrounded and-" Aaron interjected.

Marta waved her hand, cutting him off. "Okay, that wasn't fun."

"What, getting chased by assassins wasn't fun?" Aaron began half-jokingly.

"Aaron!"

"Sorry, Doc." Aaron struggled to suppress his laughter. Marta shook her head, annoyed.

"I know that you want to help them, but this Ironhand asset..." she trailed off. Aaron looked at her, waiting. Marta took a step back and put a hand on her forehead and looked down at the floor. "He almost killed both of them. And you know how good Jason is."

"I know. But hey, I'm like Jason but on steroids! I'll be fine." Aaron said cheerfully, trying to get a reaction out of her. Marta laughed and smiled. She put a hand on his cheek and he took her hand in his own, dropping to her side. Her smile faded.

"Be careful, five. Please."

"Yes, ma'am." he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek, mocking a salute as he stepped backward.

...

The various parts of a Sig Pro 2009 lay scattered on a towel in Jason's room. Off to the side of the desk sat an open box of 9mm ammunition. Jason sat in front of the desk, inspecting each piece methodically. After he was finished, the entire pistol was reassembled in seconds. He loaded the magazine and slammed it up the well. Nicky walked in.

"Dassault is in Berlin. If we go to the airport now-"

"Not we." Jason stood and drew aside his jacket, tucking the pistol into his waistband at the small of his back.

Nicky walked up to the desk. "What?"

"You're not going to Berlin." He picked up an empty magazine and began loading it.

"Dassault won't talk if I don't go."

Jason loaded another bullet into the magazine. "He'll talk."

"Why don't you want me to go?" Nicky asked, stepping into his gaze. He looked up and quickly returned to loading the magazine.

"David." The name sounded like thunder in his ears, and he put the magazine down, closing his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Nicky was nearly taken aback. His eyes seemed softer and that analyzing stare faded away. It was as if saying his name summoned the part of him that he could not remember and put away Jason Bourne into some deep recess of his mind.

"If the asset..." he looked away. His mind continued his thought but his mouth stopped moving. But however silent he stayed, Nicky understood where he was going.

She always understood.

"I'm going to Berlin," Nicky said firmly.

He pocketed the magazine and David Webb was no longer there. Jason Bourne had taken over, and he had decided that she was to stay out of harm's way. He slid out from between Nicky and the chair behind him, moving past her until he felt a small tug at his arm. His whole body tensed and he spun around, about to demand that she let go of him until he saw the intense determination in her stare. Jason knew that Nicky understood how dangerous it was to physically confront him, especially when his back was turned, and yet he saw absolutely no fear in her. Her piercing gaze sought his own and he looked away, unable to meet her.

"I'm not asking for your permission," she said, resolute. She let go of his arm, and he slowly returned it to his side. Nicky finally broke eye contact and brushed past him. Jason looked up just in time to see her hair catch a ray of light as she walked away. Nicky was going with him to Berlin. There was something familiar about the whole situation, but Jason couldn't quite put his finger on it. _Had they been here before?_

* * *

 _"Why not?"_

 _He was in his Paris apartment. His whole body felt cold but there was a warmth coming from somewhere. Flickering light everywhere. His fireplace. A sharp yet soothing smell wafted up and he identified it as cinnamon. There was a huge cloud of fog that hovered at his window. When he looked closer, he saw that it was not actually fog, but snow. There were loud voices outside, all speaking in rhythm. Singing. He got up and walked to the window, and his breath fogged up the glass. Carolers. Red and green lights everywhere. Christmas._

 _"Conklin would have a fit," Jason replied._

 _"Conklin can go to hell." was the response. He chuckled._

 _"Careful, he might hear you," Jason warned jokingly. "Might send his best man to get you."_

 _"He already did," that deep sultry voice said suggestively._

 _Nicky was sitting on his desk, kicking her feet back and forth. She smiled. Jason feigned mock surprise._

 _"Nicolette, are you flirting with me?"_

 _"God, no." she laughed. "A week," she continued, "that's all I'm asking."_

 _"I might still have training exercises during that time."_

 _"Not during that week, you don't. And I don't have anything to prep for either. It'll be the last time we both get time off for a while. It's Christmas."_

 _A long pause._

 _"Fine."_

* * *

"Jason. Wake up."

He jolted awake and grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder. It was Nicky. His eyes darted left and right, scanning his environment and analyzing everything in a few moments. She slipped her hand out from under his and he felt strangely cold. She looked out the window.

" _Kollwitzplatz 49._ Christian Dassault lives on the next block," she said.

"Okay, stop here," he said to the cab driver, handing him a wad of cash.

The cab pulled over next to the sidewalk, splashing through an undrained gutter. Jason and Nicky got out, and the cab sputtered away. The sky overhead was overcast. Every now and then the sun would peek through the clouds and they would feel just a bit warmer for a few seconds until it went back into hiding for the next few minutes. Jason pulled his jacket tighter around himself, as did Nicky with her coat. He felt through the outside of his pocket and idly traced the outline of his gun, ensuring it was still there.

They walked up a few flights of stairs before Nicky led them to a door. Jason pulled out his Sig Pro and was about to kick down the door when Nicky put a hand on the barrel of his pistol. She walked up to the door and knocked. Jason slowly put the gun back in his pocket.

"He knows me," she said calmly. Jason leaned in closer to the door, almost pressing his ear to it. He waited. Suddenly he pushed Nicky off to the side of the door and stepped away to the opposite side, back pressed against the wall so that his body wasn't in view of the doorframe. As Jason tensed his body, his mind seemed to pull into the very center of his head, like a weight being dropped onto a spider's web. The threads of his mind were drawn tight, ready to react to whatever might come along and pluck them. The door opened and Christian Dassault was there, looking into the hallway. Someone plucked a string.

Before Nicky could even greet Dassault, Jason was all over him. He grabbed Dassault by the collar and pushed him back into his room. Nicky cried out in protest, but Jason wasn't listening. He drew his pistol and pressed it into Dassault's collarbone, running him into the wall. Christian Dassault was not exactly a large man. A lifetime's worth of fighting experience aside, Jason could have easily killed this man with just his size. Christian looked up at Jason and only glared. Jason said nothing, pulling the hammer of his pistol back in response.

"Jason!" Nicky shouted. She wanted to pull him off of Dassault, but she knew better than to interrupt him in the middle of an interrogation.

"You used her. You coward," Jason spat. "You waited for her to get the files in Greece and you took them after you thought she died. You couldn't even get them yourself." Christian glanced down at the gun and returned to staring Jason down. Neither man flinched. Christian almost looked smug.

"Check his desk," Jason said over his shoulder to Nicky. Nicky was frozen in her tracks for a moment, but quickly went to his desk, hurriedly sifting through the various items scattered across its surface.

"Uh, I can't find the flash drive, but there's his laptop," Nicky said as she continued to prod through his belongings.

Jason returned his attention to Christian. "Are the files on there?" No answer. "Are the files on there?" Jason shouted louder, twisting the gun into Christian's shoulder.

"No." was the terse reply.

Jason brought his arm back and backhanded Christian across the temple with his gun in hand. Christian fell to the floor, hands over his face. A trickle of blood dripped down the side of his head, and he dabbed the sleeve of his sweatjacket over the wound, wincing. Nicky whirled around, mouth open at the scene, but she said nothing.

"Convince me," Jason said in a low voice. He pointed the gun at the cowering Dassault.

Dassault was slow to get to his feet. "I don't have the files, but I can trace them."

"Trace them? How?" Nicky asked.

"The CIA injected a tracker into those files as soon as you downloaded them. I can isolate the signal the CIA is using and use that to track the files the same way they do," he said slowly. He looked up at Jason angrily.

Jason looked back at Nicky, whose mouth was still open from shock seeing Jason so quickly beat the man. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. This is what he was trained for, after all. She closed her mouth and gulped. He lowered his gun and released Dassault. Jason walked away to Nicky.

"Are you tracking them right now?" Nicky asked.

"No, I can't track them until someone tries to open the files. Come, look..." Nicky followed Christian as he walked over to his computer, glancing back at Jason every few seconds, hoping to himself that Jason would not suddenly draw his gun on him again. Christian sat down slowly, careful to not make any sudden movements that might set off Jason, who looked like he might snap at any second.

Almost instantly, a shrill beeping came from the computer.

"That's the tracking signal," Christian explained. "Someone is opening the file."

"Find it," Jason commanded Christian. He nodded.

Christian put his head down and began typing. Jason and Nicky watched the computer screen as a map appeared. A series of points and lines popped up on various cities, and soon, one was highlighted. The other lines vanished, and this line ran straight to one city before bouncing to the next. It continued to bounce around the map until Christian's phone rang.

He looked down at the phone. It beeped and whirred as it vibrated on the desk. The screen read "Blocked Number." He picked it up slowly and answered.

"Hello?" he said hesitantly.

"Something I've learned in cyber ops was that trackers work both ways. I thought you of all people would have known that, _Mr. Dassault_."

The line on the map continued to bounce around erratically, showing no signs of stopping. _Buy time..._

Christian Dassault's eyes widened in shock and most of all fear. He glanced between Jason, Nicky, and the computer. His eyes stopped on Jason as he slowly handed him the phone. Jason looked surprised as he took the phone.

"Hello?" he asked, more of a statement than a question.

"Jason, this is Heather Lee, CIA cyber ops division. I can see that you're looking for something. Or someone."

"What's that to you?" he countered. The computer was still racing to complete the trace. It had narrowed the trace down to North America, much to Jason's astonishment.

There was a pause on the line. "I want to help you. Come in. We can talk about this."

"One minute," Nicky mouthed to Jason. He nodded. There was static on the line before someone finally spoke back.

"Hello Jason, this is Director Robert Dewey, do you remember me?"

Jason remained silent as he sifted through his memories. The name Dewey did sound familiar, but he would have to look him up later to be sure.

"Jason, this has to stop. Your father wouldn't want to see you destroying this agency."

 _His father._

 _There was a cafe that they sat at. His father sat across from him, telling him he had done something terrible, and that it would cost him. David didn't understand what he meant until he heard the explosion. Terrorists had planted a car bomb and it had gone off, killing Richard Webb. As David looked up from his father's bloody body, a van sped away. The face was blurry, and he couldn't see who it was. Their faces were always blurry._

The sound of gunfire filled the room as the corner window shattered into a thousand shimmering shards. Christian dove out of his chair behind a shelf, but not before he cried out in pain. He pressed his back up against the shelf, grimacing as he grasped his shoulder. Blood dripped through his fingers. Jason grabbed Nicky and threw both of them on the ground. Nicky covered her neck with her hands and crawled into a corner away from the broken window, staying as close to the wall as possible. Jason rolled over and looked through the broken window. There were at least two men on the rooftop firing at them from the adjacent building. He took aim and fired several suppressing shots, sending them ducking for cover. He quickly ran out of the gunmen's line of sight and slid into a desk, hiding behind it for cover.

The pause in the gunfire was soon interrupted by another shrill beeping from the computer. The trace had finished.

"It's done!" Nicky yelled from her corner of the room.

Jason craned his neck over the desk, trying to look at the computer. He barely got a glimpse before the gunfire resumed. With his back against the desk, Jason saw bullets pelt the wall across from him. Various objects shattered and splintered, creating a cloud of dust that suspended in the apartment. He looked over towards Nicky, and she was still against the wall.

"I can't see it!" he yelled to her.

Jason carefully listened to the rapidfire patter of bullets. His mind raced as he mentally searched through the various sounds of different weapons. Assault rifles, his mind told him. Assault rifles meant that the team was equipped for long range fire.

Several bullets began tearing up the desk around the computer, and Jason realized that the CIA team was going to destroy the computer. He reloaded his gun and fired a few blind shots backwards at the open window. The gunfire from the adjacent building halted for the briefest of moments. Then he made his move. He quickly grabbed the desk and flipped it vertically, being careful to stay behind it. He used the overturned desk as a shield and began pushing it towards the window, groaning as he did so. The desk slowly scraped across the floor, and large bullet holes soon appeared in the desk, giving Jason visibility he really didn't want. But he had accomplished his goal in drawing away the fire.

Nicky suddenly jumped up and ran over to the laptop, scooping it up with one hand and using her other arm to brace herself as she slid across the floor, not once pausing. She pulled the laptop open and read the screen.

"I got it!" she yelled to Jason. "Uh, 813...oh my god..." she trailed off.

"What?" Jason shouted back.

"The address is 8139 Dabney Avenue in Nixa, Missouri. Jason, it's your old house."

"How-" Jason paused. He couldn't even remember his old address. Pamela Landy had to tell him where he lived. "It's a message," he realized. Someone from his old life, or perhaps _Richard_ ' _s_ old life, had found him.

Nicky pulled a Walther PPK out of her pocket and began firing it out the window. There was a shout of pain from the rooftop as one of Nicky's shots found its mark. Jason cautiously peered out the window from behind the desk and held out his hand towards Nicky, motioning for her to stay put. He could not see clearly from where he sat and he worried the other gunman was lying in wait, scope already trained on the open position Jason would step out into if he were to move. The silence continued.

"Wait," he pointed to Nicky.

Nicky tried to see from her vantage point, but hers was even worse that Jason's.

"I can't see either," she said cautiously. She took the short reprieve to check her magazine. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she sat huddled against the wall. She scanned the room from side to side, but couldn't find any cover. She was pinned down.

For what seemed like an eternity, Jason sat there in silence, waiting for the gunman to expose himself. There was a small section of rooftop he could not see, where he suspected the gunman lay waiting. He motioned for Nicky to get as close to the ground as possible. She followed and began to slowly make her way over to Jason's desk. Jason kept his pistol trained on the open section of rooftop, careful to not expose too much of his profile. Nicky was almost at the desk when the gunman popped up, pointing something at the overturned desk. It was a grenade launcher.

Before Jason could warn Nicky, a large explosion flipped the desk to the ceiling. The sharp edge of the desk caught him in the head, and he fell to the floor. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and shut out the world was Nicky hovering over him telling him he was going to be alright.

* * *

 **End Author's Note:** Fun fact, Kollwitzplatz 49 is Christian's address he searches in the movie, and when Heather Lee tracks him to that address, the map on her computer matches the actual Google map that comes up when you search that address. I have no idea what is actually at that address, but I was surprised at how accurate they kept things.


	4. Chapter 4 - Homecoming

**Author's Note:** Sorry this update took so long! I've been busy lately and I spent a lot of time drafting where I wanted the plot to go. Hopefully updates will come a lot faster now, but we'll see. Without further ado, here's chapter 4!

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Homecoming**

* * *

The tossing and turning in the back of the car was what eventually woke Jason up. Back and forth it rocked, pitching left and right through narrow alleys and sharp turns. Jason sat up quickly and assessed his surroundings.

"Jason, I could really use some help," came the voice from the driver's seat.

Jason looked over and saw Nicky wide-eyed, knuckles white from strangling the steering wheel. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the road in front of her, praying that no pedestrians would step out in front of her. An angry car horn blared and faded away, and Jason couldn't blame the driver for being upset.

"Switch," he ordered. Nicky carefully slid over onto the console, pushing herself up with her feet on the dash as Jason ducked underneath her into the driver's seat. Nicky took a moment to readjust herself in her seat but quickly pulled her Walther out of her pocket, checking the magazine before racking the slide.

The crack of a gunshot sounded and the rear window was shattered. Another crack and the left mirror was blown off. Nicky ducked down instinctively, but not for long as she turned around in her seat and fired several shots at the pursuing vehicle. The black SUV behind them swerved out of the way. Jason looked in his rear view mirror and yanked on the steering wheel, sending the chase down a narrow alley. Nicky turned the pistol in her hand and realized the slide had locked back, and the chamber was empty.

"I'm out," she reported.

"Nicky." There was a voice from the backseat.

Jason glanced over his shoulder and saw Christian Dassault lying across the back, grasping his shoulder still. He held out a spare magazine, and Nicky took it, quickly reloading her gun. Jason honked the horn rapidly as pedestrians flung themselves out of the way of the rampaging vehicle. The gunmen in the SUV took a few more shots, and Nicky returned fire.

"Stay down!" he yelled while craning his neck over his seat.

"Like hell I am," Nicky retorted as she continued taking aim at the driver.

The alley ended and Jason pulled up on the brakes as the beat-up sedan slid into the stream of traffic. More cars behind him honked angrily, and he threw the first gear down as he sped up. The SUV followed suit, dodging through traffic erratically. Jason looked behind him and saw the SUV was about 3 cars behind him, but he couldn't afford to chance anything on that gap. Highway signs appeared more frequently, and Jason noticed.

"Map. I need a map," Jason repeated.

"Um..." Nicky dug through the glove compartment for a map, and finally procured one. She pulled it open and scanned through the pages to find the section of city they were currently in. In her haste, she tore one of the pages and cursed loudly again. Jason looked over at Nicky's lap, where the map lay.

"Where's the closest fire department?" he asked.

"Right here. Three blocks down, two blocks east," she relayed.

"It'll have to do." he muttered, displeased. "Is there another highway entrance past that?"

"Uh..." Nicky traced the lines on the map with her finger.

"Is there an entrance?" Jason repeated, louder.

" _Yes!_ " Nicky scowled. "Yes, there's an entrance on your left, five blocks down." Jason shifted into higher gear and continued down the road, quickly turning onto the highway.

The sound of several car horns caused him to look over to his left and he saw the SUV two lanes over, swerving across the highway through traffic. The operative in the passenger seat pointed an assault rifle out the window and took aim. Before he could shoot, Jason crushed the gas pedal underfoot and the car lurched forward, finding shelter behind a long transit bus. He kept speed up with the bus, alternating between watching the road in front and the bus to his left. Through the window, he could see the gunman leaning out the window, now aiming at the wheels of the bus. A few loud pops sounded off and suddenly the bus was tilted on its side, veering off towards Jason's much smaller sedan. The sedan rammed into the side of the bus.

Nicky cried out as glass beads from the shattered windshield rained down into her lap. Locked together, the vehicles screeched in protest as metal dragged along metal, threatening to tear off the front bumper of the sedan. Jason tried to move over to his right, but the car in the opposite lane wouldn't budge. He was forced to brake and drop back out of cover. As soon as the bus was out of the way, the SUV opened fire on the sedan once more. Jason reached out his arm and forced Nicky's head down as he leaned over into her seat. The rapid _plink-plink_ of .223 rounds on the aluminum car doors filled their ears. Jason grabbed his phone and dialed 112, the medical emergency line in Berlin.

" _This is emergency services, please state the nature of your emergency_ ," a woman said in rapid German. It wasn't fair to say that Jason's only second language was French, when he spoke German just as fluently as he did about a dozen other languages.

More gunfire sounded, and Jason was sure the operator could hear it.

" _There's a man who was just shot..._ " Jason paused and looked at the map. " _...on the corner of Rebhuhnweg and Sterckmannweg._ "

" _An ambulance will arrive shortly. What is your name?_ "

Jason hung up the phone. The gunfire stopped and he looked over at the gunman who was reloading his weapon, and he took the opportunity to ram the sedan into the larger vehicle. The car jerked as it crashed into the SUV and Jason reached into the other car, grabbing the rifle out of the operative's hands. The operative resisted and was quickly subdued with a strike across the nose which sent him reeling. Jason regained control of the rifle and hefted it in his outstretched hand while his other hand made adjustments with the steering wheel. He focused on the weapon's sights and fired several shots at the other driver. The driver cried out in pain, and the SUV skidded to a stop in the shoulder lane.

"Jason!" Nicky screamed.

But too late, as the sedan crashed into the stopped vehicle in front of them, nearly sending Jason and Nicky flying through the open windshield. In the backseat, Christian was glad he had rolled over onto the floor in all the chaos, preventing him from being thrown out of the car.

Jason heard a loud crack and cried out in pain, quickly assessing that the sound must have come from his ribs. He sucked in deep breaths which caused him great pain, confirming his theory. Nicky looked over in her seat, worried, but Jason shook his head, dismissing her.

He glanced around and realized traffic had come to nearly a complete stop, and he must have not noticed when he was fending off the CIA agents. The man in the car in front of him got out of his car and began to curse Jason out in German, flipping him off with both hands in the process. Nicky simply raised her pistol in response, sending a shockwave of fear into the man, who staggered backward. He put his hands up and slowly got back into his car. Jason smirked.

The squeal of tires on asphalt came from behind, and Jason turned in his seat, seeing another black SUV about eight cars behind them. Three men got out of the car, geared in body armor and assault rifles. With the traffic at a complete standstill, the operatives had chosen to pursue the fugitives on foot. Jason looked to the front of the car and saw that traffic was still not moving.

"We need to move. Now!" Jason ordered.

Christian tumbled out of the car and stayed low, crouching along the side. Nicky followed suit, taking a knee in front of the car. Jason reloaded his pistol and cautiously peered through the broken windshield of the sedan. The men had split up, each of them marching down a lane line.

Jason jumped up and quickly put down an agent, who shouted in pain, drawing the attention of the other agents. They quickly ran over towards Jason, being careful in staying behind the stationary cars for cover. A few shots rang out, glancing off the hood of the car. One of the shots got too close for Christian's comfort, and he fell over on his side, covering his head. Nicky glared at him in disgust for his reaction to gunfire.

Jason spun around and saw one of the agents with a rifle already pointed at him, about to pull the trigger. Jason pulled back on the trigger of his own gun, but only a click resounded. The sound of a gunshot pierced the din of the traffic, but Jason felt nothing. Instead, he saw the agent fall to the floor. Nicky looked around, and Jason realized that the shot didn't come from Nicky either.

Another shot, and the second agent went down. Jason looked around for the source of the gunshot, and found Aaron Cross waving to him from another car behind the CIA vehicle. He was standing outside behind the open door of his car. Jason's face revealed surprise as he looked back at Nicky, who seemed genuinely pleased with herself.

"I told him to tail us in case if anything went wrong," she explained.

Suddenly the wail of a siren grew louder, and flashes of light reflected off the bumpers of the cars in front of the group. Nicky turned around, spotting the ambulance approaching. Cars began to turn out of its path, pulling over into the shoulder. The three of them ran over to Aaron's car.

"Catch you at a bad time?" Aaron asked cheekily.

The ambulance passed, and Aaron stomped on the gas pedal, following the ambulance. The cars in front of the ambulance gave way, and they had themselves their very own linebacker. They continued down the highway until the ambulance signaled to turn off at an exit ramp. Aaron followed them to the corner of _Rebhuhnweg and Sterckmannweg_ , where Jason had originally told the dispatcher. The ambulance pulled over to the side of the road, and Aaron pulled over as well.

Jason dragged Christian out of the car and pulled him over towards the ambulance. A paramedic jumped out of the back, puzzled as he looked around the street corner for an emergency. He was startled as a shuddering Christian Dassault was thrust into his arms by a steely-gazed American. Christian was bleeding more profusely than he was before. Jason briskly walked away from the ambulance to the car where Nicky sat waiting. The paramedic was shouting at Jason to come back and explain himself, but Jason turned around and waved his pistol at them, sending the paramedic running back to the ambulance. The ambulance soon took off, and Jason got back in the car.

"What did you find out?" Aaron asked from the driver's seat. "I take it that Dassault isn't going to be of any more use to us."

"Someone opened the files from my old address," Jason said. "It's a message."

"So what happens now?"

"Airport. We need to go to Missouri."

...

Aaron was first to the gate, then Nicky, then Jason. It was risky enough showing up in Tegel Airport so quickly after they were tracked from Dassault's place, so splitting up their group was preferable to all of them waltzing through at the same time. It was especially crowded today, something that worked to the trio's advantage, and right now they could use all the edge they could get. It was the look on Aaron's face that tipped Jason off. Something wasn't right.

"Dammit..."

"What happened?" Jason asked Aaron.

Aaron pocketed his phone. "Marta. She thinks someone was following her so she fled to our place in London. I have to go."

He looked around nervously and briskly walked away. Nicky watched the scene from afar, looking back and forth between Jason and the departing Aaron. Jason looked back at her and she took it as a cue to walk over to him.

"He's not coming with us. Marta thinks they've found her. They're going to London," Jason explained quickly. Nicky's mouth opened to form a question and she looked back to find Aaron, but he was long gone, having blended in with the bustling crowd.

* * *

It was nearly nightfall by the time Jason and Nicky got to Nixa. An orange glow illuminated the street and the tops of the houses. The sun barely sat above the horizon and the clouds that lazily drifted across the sky threatened to block out the sun completely. The taxi driver squinted as the sun shone directly in his eyes, the perfect angle where the light was not quite blocked out by the car visor, but not low enough where it was blocked by the trees or houses.

"They know you're coming here," Nicky said.

The cab rolled down the street. Jason continued to keep both eyes out for any surveillance teams that might be camping on the house. So far, the street seemed empty and everything seemed to be clear. There was one van, however, that sat a few houses down from _8139 Dabney_ , the most obvious candidate for housing a surveillance team. Sure enough, there was a single agent posted on the sidewalk, conspicuously holding the cuff of his sleeve up to his face.

The cab pulled up to the sidewalk, and Jason got out, keeping a careful eye on the agent down the street. The agent looked directly at him and began walking towards him. Jason glanced over and made eye contact briefly, then continued walking down the sidewalk. He had one hand at the crook of Nicky's arm, tugging her along with him, making sure she kept up pace with him. She kept her head down and pulled her coat collar up as high as it would go.

As Jason rounded the corner, he looked over his shoulder, waiting for the agent to follow. Surely enough, the agent was hot on his tail, and had put a hand into his pocket, probably to pull out a gun. Jason pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to glance at his watch, mentally counting how much time had passed. Nicky shot a worried look at Jason, who showed no reaction. He counted silently to himself and sped up the pace.

The distinctive metallic click of a hammer being pulled back made Nicky flinch just in the slightest, and Jason felt her body tense. Right on cue, a police cruiser blared its sirens and screeched to a stop behind the CIA operative. Doors opened and two officers got out of the car, barking orders at the operative, who had no choice but to drop his weapon and surrender himself. Jason was nearly dragging Nicky alongside him at this point, and they disappeared around the bend at the end of the block.

Nicky could not help but glance back at the scene unfolding behind them. Rather than engage in a direct confrontation drawing out a lengthy firefight, Jason had called the local police, telling them he thought he was being followed by a man with a gun. Instinctively he knew the average response time of a Nixa police unit, one of the many bits of tactical facts he had tucked away somewhere in his mind. He had made the call earlier in the cab, when he was a few minutes away from the house. All that remained was to make sure the operative would be far enough to not be a threat, but close enough that the police would suspect him as a potential mugger.

They rounded the block and came around full-circle to the house. The surveillance van was gone, thanks to the police. Jason went up to the front of the house and turned the knob, but it was locked and did not budge. Nicky began to look underneath the welcome mat for a spare key but Jason took a single kick at the door and it burst wide open. _Efficient_ , she thought. _But still ruthless_.

Jason stepped inside first and did a brief scan of the house. The entire place was dark and empty. The curtains were all drawn shut, and the house had a certain musty smell to it. A thick layer of dust coated everything he saw. Thin beams of light that escaped through the gaps in the curtains caught the clouds of swirling dust that hung midair. Nicky stepped inside after Jason determined the house was clear. She looked around, lazily dragging a finger across the console that sat by the front door. She lifted her finger up to the light and crinkled her nose in disgust as she brushed off the dust with her other hand. _Everything_ was covered in dust. And there was _a lot_ of it.

A dining table scraped across the floor, and Nicky looked over at Jason who stood behind it. He ran a finger over the top of the chair and found that it too was incredibly dusty. The cushion on the chair was dusty too. The table itself was also covered with dust, and spider webs clung to the corner and ran towards the closest wall. For all Jason knew, the house could have been come straight out of the Dust Bowl, or rather been plunged straight into the Dust Bowl and swirled around for a few decades before being dropped off in the middle of Nixa. The kitchen reeked of rot, and Jason buried his nose in his sleeve as he walked past it. The place looked deserted, as if no one had lived here in months, _years_ even. Something about the whole situation didn't feel right.

Jason stepped into the bathroom and took note of the sink. Fluoride buildup from toothpaste had caked along the drain, and the caulking around the countertop was browned and peeling. The faucet handles were rusted, and an eerie green trail dripped down into the sink. A ring of soap scum had turned the bath tub nearly fluorescent orange. The toilet was in no better condition, and Jason didn't want to bother inspecting it any further. It was clear that this house was largely unoccupied as of late.

"Who lives here, now?" Jason called over to Nicky. "Nicky?"

Nicky didn't reply, and Jason's mind went into full threat analysis mode. He slowly walked back into the main living area at the front of the house. He saw Nicky who was backed up further into the house, pressing herself against a far wall. Her fingers danced along the grip of her pistol and she flicked the safety off. She held a finger to her lips and pointed at the door. She held up a single finger, letting Jason know there was at least one person who was at the door. Jason stepped to one side of the doorway, lying in wait. The door knob turned slower than what seemed humanly possible, and Jason could hear his pulse beat in his ears. He glanced back at Nicky, who nodded and raised her weapon slowly.

The door opened and a dark figure walked through the doorway. Jason shoved the figure up against a wall, causing a picture frame to fall and shatter. He lifted his gun to the person's head and pressed forward. For a split second, Jason hesitated. He was expecting someone to fight back, for vicious blows to be traded as he attempted to subdue his assailant. But this person didn't resist at all. Nicky turned on the lights.

Heather Lee stood there with her back against the wall, a gun to her forehead. She was unfazed and looked Jason directly in the eye. Her jaw clenched as she stared down Jason. No words passed between them for what seemed an eternity. Jason broke the silence.

"You're Heather Lee."

She didn't say anything, only replying with a short nod.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

She nodded again. Jason cautiously lowered the pistol, but Nicky still kept hers in front of her. She was not going to be caught off guard.

"What do you want from me?" he said in a low voice.

Heather looked back at Nicky who stared right back at her. She returned her gaze to Jason. "Help us."

Jason scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "You sent the Asset after Nicky in Athens. You sent agents after us in Berlin," Jason said accusingly.

"Dewey." Heather answered. "I wanted to help, believe me," she pleaded. "What are you looking for?"

"Answers."

Heather took a few deep breaths. "I can help you. Come back in, and we can talk about this."

Jason's stare was apathetic. Heather saw that she was getting nowhere trying to convince Jason to come in, and she resigned herself to pulling out a business card. She wrote a number down and held it out to him. He looked at it but didn't take it, and Heather gave up, leaving the card on the table. She took one last look at Jason before walking out the door. When the door closed, Nicky finally lowered her gun and Jason pocketed the card.

A shrill ringing came from the dining table, and Jason whirled around. There was a low hum of a vibrating phone, and he walked over to it. Jason picked it up, surprised. The phone was perhaps the one thing in the entire house that was not caked in dust, and he guessed someone had planted it there. Nicky walked over and glanced at the phone nervously. Jason opened it and put it to his ear.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"McCauley park, ten minutes. Bring Nicky and this phone. I have the black ops files," the voice replied. _Female_ , Jason noted. And very familiar. He froze.

There was a dial tone on the line as the other person hung up. Jason slowly closed the phone, looking at Nicky.

"That was Pam Landy. She has the files."


	5. Chapter 5 - Who Watches the Watchers?

**Chapter 5 - Who Watches the Watchers?**

* * *

The park was quiet, save for a few people and a couple who had decided it was a good time to play Frisbee on the clearing. Benches were scattered throughout the area, mostly occupied by a few birds who had found leftover snacks sitting by a garbage can. Jason walked through to the center of the park.

"What if it's a trap?" Nicky asked suddenly.

"It was her voice, I'm certain of it," Jason replied.

"I don't doubt you heard her, but what is she doing with the files anyway?"

Jason couldn't answer. He had contemplated this too, wondering what Pam was doing with the files. It had been years since Pam brought up the allegations of treason against Kramer, Vosen, and Hirsch. Word had it Kramer was cleared of all charges, Vosen was still under criminal investigation, and Hirsch had mysteriously died of a heart attack before he could testify. Given the NRAG's affinity for cleaning up Outcome agents with death-inducing pills, Jason doubted Hirsch died because of his cholesterol intake. Maybe she was still looking for incriminating evidence. But ten years later? It seemed like a long time to pick up the case again. For now, it didn't matter to Jason as much as staying under the radar did. He didn't think that two fugitives showing up with a government whistleblower was a good combination as far as life expectancy was concerned.

There was a blonde haired woman who stood near a bench in the middle of the park, refusing to sit. She was unbothered by the breezy weather and setting sun, wearing a simple turtleneck and blazer, while others wore scarves and hooded jackets.

"Hello, David. It's been a while, hasn't it?" She nodded in Nicky's direction. "Nicky." Nicky returned a brief smile.

"Pam," Jason returned. She had addressed him as David, which surprised him a bit, but then he remembered it wasn't the first time. She had called him David before when he had given her the contents of Noah Vosen's safe ten years ago. A sort of forgiveness Pam had given him, he supposed.

"I don't have long before Tom picks me up, but I thought you might want this back." She held out a flash drive, catching Nicky's eye. "This drive is clean. No tracers."

"How did you get this?" Nicky asked as she palmed the drive.

"Some associates at the Inspector General's office tracked you from Iceland to Larissa station. They were after the files."

"Why couldn't you just get them yourselves? And why do you need them anyway?" Jason questioned.

"By hacking directly into the CIA D-base?" Pam asked dubiously. "The IG's office performs audits but we knew it wouldn't be enough to make Dewey give over the files. The IG's office is even more wary of extralegal intelligence gathering, so our hands were tied. A source told us that one of Christian Dassault's people had gotten a hold of the files, and we wanted to arrange a meet. When we tracked down the holder, we found Nicky, who unfortunately by that time was officially dead, and we had no choice but to retrieve the files from your locker. We have a copy now and we're building a case against the Director."

"You're shutting down Ironhand?" Nicky asked hopefully.

"There will always be another Ironhand, another Treadstone. My brief time with Blackbriar taught me that much. Shutting down Ironhand won't do anything."

"So roll over, and that's it?" Nicky asked visibly frustrated.

"Of course not," Pam shot back.

"You're building a case against Dewey? Why?" Jason broke in.

"Paranoia. He's afraid of what he can't see, and with a job like his, it's a big problem. We need someone in the driver's seat who can see the threats but not lash out recklessly."

"Someone like Heather Lee?" Jason asked, only half serious.

"The girl from Cyber Ops?" Pam frowned. "She's green as hell and much too ambitious to take a chair that big."

"She wants me back in the program," Jason muttered.

Pam looked at him incredulously. "You can't trust her."

"I don't," Jason replied tersely.

"You're not Jason Bourne anymore, David. Bringing you in is just another badge for her trophy case. Don't let her change you."

 _Change him_. Pam knew how hard he had fought to put away his old persona, but everything that happened now threatened to pull Bourne back out from the prison he had constructed in his mind. He mulled over her advice for a bit. It was in his nature to not trust anyone, and in light of recent events especially the CIA. He already didn't trust Lee, and it seemed Pam didn't either. But as much as he trusted Pam, he felt she was holding back.

"Something bigger is going on with Dewey, isn't there?" Jason prodded.

Pam hesitated. "Look, I can't give you all the details, but we have reason to believe the Director is using Ironhand to cause political turmoil in certain nations beyond the current interests of the US."

"To benefit the US?"

"To turn them against," Pam corrected. "We think he's causing strife as an excuse to expand Ironhand and create an even bigger global surveillance network. Folks in Washington are starting to get nervous."

She glanced at her watch and looked around towards the street. A black unmarked sedan pulled up, and she pulled out her phone to read her incoming message. She put it away and began to walk towards the car, but stopped and turned around.

"Malcolm Smith," she said to Jason. "I can only assume that Nicky contacted you because she found a part of your past, and I suggest you start there." She continued walking off.

"Who is he?" Jason asked.

Pam paused for a thoughtful moment before she turned to face Jason again. "You should find out for yourself. It's better that way."

* * *

Jason mulled over what he had learned from the conversation. Pam Landy worked for the Inspector General's office now, which was the CIA equivalent of Internal Affairs. The branch conducted high level reviews of CIA officials, operations, and other logistical matters as a means of accountability for the CIA. Though not officially at odds with each other because they were both technically US government sections, there was a palpable friction between the two, much in the same way police officers didn't get along with Internal Affairs agents. The IG didn't boss around the CIA directly, but they were the ones watching over shoulders, the nagging sensations at the conscience asking if an operation was constitutional. All of that red tape was no good for the CIA to smoothly function. And thus Treadstone was born, the brain-child of Dr. Albert Hirsch.

The name Malcolm Smith wasn't familiar, but from the way Nicky reacted to hearing Pam say his name, Jason guessed Nicky might know more about him. If Nicky didn't know anything, he would comb through the files to find whatever she didn't know. Thankfully, Pam had cleaned the files of the tracer, so he didn't have to worry about Heather Lee and her team for now.

Then there was the matter of Pam not telling Jason who Malcolm Smith was. He understood she was out of time and was probably taking a huge risk in meeting with him, but a simple title wouldn't have hurt. She had insisted Jason find out who Smith was on his own. It would be better for him. Who was this person, whose role in Jason's life could not be simply relayed, but instead must be discovered personally by Jason himself?

Neither Jason nor Nicky had thought it was a good idea to spend the night in Jason's old house just in case a surveillance team doubled back around, and they had decided to check in to a nearby hotel. But before they checked into their actual room, Jason took the flash drive to the lobby to open with one of the computers left open for guest use.

He opened the drive and opened the directory tree. Ten programs, starting with Treadstone and ending with Ironhand. He recognized operation Outcome on the list, and mentally reminded himself to offer to let Aaron and Marta look at the files. Treadstone was the first folder he checked. Dozens of PDF icons filled the screen. Each was named with a date and codename. Clicking through a few of them, Jason recognized some of the asset's faces. The Professor, Desh, and Jarda, among others. The reports didn't say it, but he knew that they were all dead. Jarda had told him that much when he went to his house for information. The last two assets clashed, and Jason had strangled him with an extension cord. One asset left.

As he browsed through operations reports that mentioned Smith, he noticed that much of the report was struck through and censored. Only a few tidbits of sentences and phrases remained in the reports. Strange, Jason thought, since these files weren't supposed to be found by anyone anyway. Someone had taken great care in making sure that information was never found.

After finishing the operation reports he began looking for his personnel file. He found it and opened it. A picture of him appeared on screen, and he recognized the file as the file Landy had given him years ago. His face was so much younger in the picture, and Jason thought with some cynicism how little his past self knew what he was getting into when he smiled for that picture. He exited his own file and located his father's.

"There he is," Nicky pointed to the screen. "Smith. Why is he on your father's file?"

"Malcolm Smith, surveillance officer. I remember him now. He approached me about joining Treadstone. It says here he was tasked with watching me."

Nicky watched over his shoulder silently. Jason scanned through some more of the files and found Smith's personnel file. It said he was currently living in Paris, retired. He made a mental note of the address.

"We're going to Paris tomorrow," he said definitively.

* * *

Jason opened his eyes to an apartment, or a spacious hotel room, but not the hotel in Nixa. Another flashback, he realized. He didn't know where, but it was well furnished and nicely kept. Not like the dilapidated flophouses he had used for temporary shelter on a few missions. He couldn't find any distinguishing marks that told him where he was, but he had a wager of when he was. There was a cold that permeated his very being, down to the bone. There was no breeze, but the air itself seemed to be chilled. He looked outside and it was still snowing, just like his previous flashback. His last flashback took place in his Paris apartment though, but he didn't recognize this place. He relaxed and slipped into the flow of his memory.

Nicky walked in, wool overcoat wrapped tightly about herself with a scarf around her neck and draped over her shoulder. Jason looked down and saw a phone in his hand.

"Dammit..." he muttered. Nicky heard him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Conklin..." he began.

"Does he know?" Nicky burst out in panic.

"No, it's not that," Jason dismissed her worries. "But he wants to meet for a training exercise."

"Training? When?" she asked.

"Tomorrow night. But in Berlin."

"Why Berlin?"

"I don't know."

"I'll go with you," Nicky offered hopefully.

"What? No."

"Why not?"

"He might find out."

"Only if we aren't careful. We've been careful so far."

"You've never followed me to a mission so far," Jason countered.

"You're not supposed to have any missions this week anyway." Nicky mused. She was initially suspicious, but this was Conklin they were dealing with. He was notorious for giving as little information as possible. The less other people knew, the smaller chance he could be betrayed, he reasoned.

"It might be dangerous," Jason warned. Nicky looked insulted.

"I signed up for this," she reminded him. "And I signed up for _us_. I'm going with you."

"Nicky..."

"I'll be careful."

"If something happens, I won't be able to get you out," Jason warned again. Nicky scoffed, annoyed.

"I'm going to Berlin."

He was in a car now. Streetlights flashed by, illuminating various street signs. His head pounded as he held up a hand to block out the glare. Another flashback, Jason realized.

 _This is not a drill, soldier. Are we clear on that? This is a live project, and you are go. See you on the other side._

Berlin. The same flashback he had years ago. He realized with some shock that it couldn't be a coincidence his previous flashback consisted of Nicky arguing to go to Berlin with him. _But that would mean Nicky was there in Berlin,_ he thought.

He stepped inside _Hotel Brecker_ , and a gush of warm air hit him square in the nose. It was a welcome change from the freezing outdoors. Berlin weather in the dead of winter was unpleasant for him, to say the least. He could adapt to any combat situation with perfect mental flexibility, but in harsh weather he was limited by the very nature of biology. Homeostasis, his mind pestered. A few degrees Celsius below zero. Wind speed felt like 5 kilometers an hour. Instincts told him at this speed, he would have to compensate for bullet drop with such and such adjustments, making sure to fire into the wind and to avoid being downwind of a target.

But he would not be firing any shots this night. Poison was to be his weapon of choice. The target was Vladimir Neski, a Russian politician. His first mission, and Conklin had decided to handle the logistics personally. It was also the holidays. Maybe Conklin had decided to grow half a heart and give his team the day off. Jason laughed the idea away. A quarter of a heart, at the most. Maybe.

"Hi, is there a Mr. Neski staying at this hotel?" he asked. "I have a package to deliver to him."

"Yes, there is. You may leave it at the front desk," the receptionist replied.

Bourne scratched his head, feigning nervousness. "Actually, the delivery company won't let me leave it with anyone else other than Mr. Neski. Very important files," he gestured, waving the package in the air. "I'll need a signature from him personally to complete the delivery."

"Hmm..." the receptionist tapped her fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "I'll call his room to see if he's available."

The receptionist pressed a few numbers and held the phone up to her ear, waiting for a response. Per intel from Conklin, Jason knew that Neski wasn't at the hotel right now. He was at dinner, meeting with a friend in the area. As expected, no one picked up the phone, and the receptionist hung up.

"I'm sorry, it seems like he is unavailable."

"Uh, well he actually called the delivery company a few moments ago asking for the files. Perhaps he is in the restroom," he flashed a disarming smile, hoping to convince the receptionist.

The receptionist sighed and wrote him a few numbers on a scrap of paper.

"I'm not supposed to give out our guest's room information, but I suppose it won't be any harm. Room 645."

"Thank you," Jason took the piece of paper.

Breaking into the room was easier than expected. The room was empty, as Conklin had told him, and he waited in the bathroom with a syringe in hand. He stayed in the bathroom half-alert for the next hour, waiting for Neski to show. When he finally did show, Jason heard another voice. It was a woman. Neski's wife.

He realized he couldn't poison both of them. No, that would be far too suspicious. Lover's quarrel, he quickly decided. He drew the gun and marched into the room, grabbing Neski's wife. She screamed and fought back, but Jason fired a single bullet into Vladimir Neski's head and fired another into his wife. He took the gun and put it in her hands.

Briefly, he looked upon the face of his victim. Victims, he corrected himself. Dammit, Neski's wife wasn't supposed to be here. Treadstone had prepared him to kill without question, to efficiently move from target to target, but the collateral damage was not something he was prepared for. He had reasoned with himself that the targets Treadstone provided had enough dirt on them to warrant a death sentence, and that he would be saving American lives, as Hirsch put it. But what lives could he possibly save by killing the wife of a politician? She was innocent, merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. In his mind he knew the collateral damage wouldn't stop there, but he forced himself not to think of it and to deal with it only when the time came. He hoped it would never come.

 _Congratulations, soldier. Your training is over._

Jason was now sitting in a chair in another hotel room. He was watching television.

This part was new to him. In his flashbacks, all he could remember was killing the Neskis and leaving, nothing after. Was this even connected to the same memory? Something felt different about this flashback, like he was walking over the final part of the bridge that fit into the gap he had always had to jump over.

Nicky walked in the room and his heart nearly stopped. _She was actually here in Berlin?_

"It went well, then?" Nicky asked. She was carrying a few bags and placed them on the table as she undid her shoes. Jason tensed slightly, unsure how to respond. _Did she know?_

"What?"

"Your exercise Conklin gave you. Did you pass?"

Jason realized that Nicky had no idea Conklin's training exercise consisted of him assassinating Vladimir Neski. Jason knew what he had signed up for, and if he told Nicky that his "exercise" was to kill a politician, he doubted she would show much apprehension. After all, when it came to killing, she was nearly as guilty as he. An innocent bystander however, was another matter entirely.

"I think so," he replied coolly.

She frowned as she detected something amiss. "You can always talk to me. You know that right?"

A ghost of a smile danced across Jason's face. "I know."

* * *

Jason woke, his body dripping with sweat and his breathing erratic. His mind raced as he put together the memories. Suddenly it all fit together; he and Nicky had gone on a trip and unexpectedly had been called to Berlin by Conklin. It was during that trip that Conklin had him assassinate Vladimir Neski. Nicky was under the impression it was only a training exercise, not a real mission, which is why when Jason interrogated her in Alexanderplatz all those years ago she didn't know what he meant by the Berlin job. By now Jason expected Nicky to put two and two together, that he was the one who killed Neski, and that he hid this from her.

But most importantly, he better understood the nature of his relationship with Nicky. She had frequently alluded to a connection that went beyond the professional, and even beyond the bounds of normal friendship. She didn't merely monitor his health; she _cared_. She knew something was wrong all those years ago on that fateful night in Berlin. She picked up on Jason's discomfort in killing a bystander, and although she didn't fully understand the situation, she understood _him_. He wondered if he ever told her the truth about what happened that night.

He rolled over towards Nicky's side of the bed and saw that it was empty. He jolted upright and threw off the sheets, his eyes locking onto the window and door. No sign of tampering or forced entry. His scan of the room was cut short when he saw Nicky's silhouette outlined in blueish moonlight standing in the archway between the living area and the bedroom. Her eyes met his and she looked startled but not surprised outright. She looked as if she was expecting Jason's reaction. She held a towel loosely in her hands and walked forward.

She went to his side of the bed and sat on the edge. Jason was staring straight at the foot of the bed, focusing on nowhere in particular. He sat there, taking in deep breaths to control his heart beat. When his breathing slowed, the low hum of the air conditioning unit was the only sound that persisted in the tense silence. Nicky took the towel and gently dabbed at his forehead. It was cool to the touch, unexpected. He turned to face her, and she met his gaze, slowly lowering the towel and placing it into his hands. He was suddenly reminded of their time on the run together in Tangier, after he had brutally strangled Desh in the bathroom. The towel she had given him then was almost as if she was washing the metaphorical blood from his hands, while he washed the literal blood off of his bruised knuckles. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

"You were burning up," Nicky said in barely a whisper. "I thought you had a fever."

"I remember now," he began. "Our time in Berlin."

Nicky froze.

"Did you know then?" Jason continued. "That I had killed Neski and his wife too? That it was off the books?"

Nicky looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the sheets gathered between her fingers. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "I didn't realize until after what happened in the train station," she said softly. "When you mentioned Neski's name...I think I understood."

Jason absentmindedly rolled the towel around in his hands, folding and creasing it in random places.

"I remember us. We were together, weren't we?" The question hung in the air between them, filling up the void that had previously pervaded the room. He waited for a response from Nicky, but only her silence followed. But it was more than enough confirmation.

"When we were... _involved_ ," he paused, the word rolling around awkward in his mouth, "you knew I was becoming a killer."

"So was I," Nicky replied gently. Jason was taken aback by her confession. "We both wanted to do the right thing, and at the time Treadstone felt right. It didn't change anything between us."

Jason almost smiled at what Nicky said. They were naive when they joined Treadstone, and they were definitely in over their heads charging straight at the director of the CIA, but Nicky was right. He couldn't beat himself up over his past because joining Treadstone felt like the right thing to do, just like how he now felt taking down Dewey was the right thing to do. The best thing he could do for himself was to move forward and find his answers so that he could put this ghost to rest once and for all.

She slipped her hand into his. "Get some rest. We're going to find Smith."


	6. Chapter 6 - Guilt by Association

**A/N: I sincerely apologize that this update took so long to put out. I've been busy with school, and finding time to write and flesh out this story is incredibly difficult. I am glad however, to announce that the skeleton of the rest of this story has been written out with great detail, so there is no need to worry about this work not being finished. From this chapter to the end, I know exactly what I want to happen, so it is just a matter of writing it all down. Thank you all for being so patient with me. As always, leave a review! Favorite or follow this! Or both, if you are so inclined. But most of all, enjoy the read!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 - Guilt by Association**

* * *

 _London_

"Why is it always raining in London?" Aaron asked himself as he walked through the streets.

He drew his coat tighter around him and adjusted his hood. Sounds of rain rapidly hitting the pavement filled his ears, mixed in with the clomp-clomp of rainboots trudging through puddles. Ahead of him, a cab screeched to a stop by a gutter, sloshing water onto an unsuspecting pedestrian, who proceeded to curse out the cabbie angrily. Mothers carrying umbrellas dragged their children along hurriedly, and businessmen caught without umbrellas held up their coats to shield them.

Aaron continued down the streets on high alert, after receiving word from Marta that their hideout had been compromised. She had followed procedure and fled to their safehouse in London, which was where Aaron was headed now. Questions piled up in Aaron's head. _Who could be after us? Is it the same Asset who went after Jason? Has Byer gotten so bored he decided to smoke us out from hiding? And why is London always so bleak?_ As thoughts flooded his mind, he nearly forgot the ongoing storm surrounding him.

He entered their safehouse cautiously, mind still racing on high alert. His coat was soaked and his hands were still wet, but he drew his pistol all the same. The lights were off but the living room curtains were drawn back, giving a dingy source of illumination. He stepped through the small kitchen slowly.

Footsteps suddenly sounded in the hallway. Not unusually loud, but not quiet either. The floorboards creaked, and Aaron tried to pinpoint where the other person was. The creaking seemed to fade into the distance, possibly going into the bedroom.

"Doc? Is that you?" Aaron called out hopefully.

The creaking stopped, and there was no response.

Fearing the worst, he rushed down the hallway into the bedroom and was even more startled to see Marta, holding a vase. She noticed him instantly and shrieked, dropping the vase. The vase shattered into a million shards, and Aaron flinched a bit. A British passport fell out among the ceramic pieces on the floor. She pulled out her headphones.

"Oh, Jesus! Aaron!" She yelled, unsure of whether to be happy at his appearance or infuriated with his sudden entrance. Aaron holstered his gun and quickly walked over and embraced Marta. She kept his head to his chest and he kissed the top of her head gently.

"Are you okay?" Aaron asked worriedly into her hair.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry..." she stepped back and began picking up the scattered fragments. Aaron knelt down and did the same. "I was just unpacking my things. I only got in this morning."

"What happened? Did they find you?"

Marta paused and looked up. "There's something you should know..."

* * *

 _Paris_

Jason had not caught a wink of sleep during the arduous ten-hour red-eye from Missouri to Paris. Nicky, in a form of solidarity, had attempted to do the same, but eventually succumbed to her heavy eyelids. To her credit, she managed to stay awake through the majority of the flight. While Nicky shuffled in her seat every few hours, Jason's position in his seat had remained largely unchanged; only his gaze shifted occasionally in order to maintain situational awareness. Some of the flight attendants took notice and were quite unnerved by Jason's unnatural stillness.

Despite his statue-like appearance, his mind was fluidly working out the possible situations he would encounter and the potential identities of Malcolm Smith. The file said Smith watched him, which was slightly unsettling. He was stationed in Paris, which made stationing Jason in Paris as well an interesting choice.

"I thought this address sounded familiar," Jason murmured absentmindedly.

The cab continued its bumpy ride down the streets of Paris. In the early afternoon, the streets were still bustling with foot traffic which made an ordeal out of driving.

"Hm?" Nicky sounded sleepy.

"My old apartment. Malcolm Smith was stationed about five blocks from my old apartment."

Nicky gave a puzzled frown. "Why would they do that? Put you two in such close proximity?"

"I'm not sure. He already watched me before, maybe they wanted someone familiar with me to continue surveillance."

"But we already kept pretty tight surveillance on you. Why another person? Why him?"

Jason didn't respond. His mind was still trying to answer dozens of other questions regarding Smith.

Nicky broke the silence. "Have you heard from Aaron or Marta? I hope they're doing alright."

"They're fine," Jason responded quickly.

"How do you know?"

Jason shifted in his seat. "Because I told her to go to London."

"What?" Nicky asked, shocked. "You mean-"

"There was never any danger. The whole thing about the CIA team finding Marta was fake. I made her say that."

"Jason, why? Aaron must have been worried sick!"

"It's better to have your guard up than to not worry. Aaron will understand."

"But what for?"

"To keep them out of this. I told Marta that they were to stay in hiding and not to try to help us again. They risked enough saving us in Athens. If something happened to either of them..." Jason trailed off, but his guilt was evident. "They've made a life for themselves, Nicky. They got out. I can't drag them back into my fight."

The cab ground to a halt by the sidewalk and the two got out. They walked into the lobby of the apartment complex and Jason did a quick scout of the area before returning to Nicky.

"I don't want to risk bringing you into a trap. Stay by that computer and tell me if you see anything suspicious."

As much as Nicky wanted to protest and come with him, she knew he was right. They still didn't know if this was a trap, and they would both be better off if Jason wasn't worrying about trying to protect someone. _He was always overprotective_ , she thought. _Then again, I can't really blame him._ Nicky checked her gun and stuffed it back into her pocket before watching Jason disappear into the elevator.

* * *

"Don't move," Jason ordered. Malcolm Smith's eyebrows went straight up and his mouth opened in surprise. Jason stepped out of the shadows from a corner by the door, gun in hand. Smith was caught completely off guard, and promptly dropped his bag of groceries in surprise. He was about to turn around to see who his assailant was, but Jason stepped forward with the gun, signalling for him to stop moving.

"Put your gun on the table, now."

He stammered a reply but another quick jab to his upper back with Jason's pistol silenced him. One arm went up in surrender while the other fumbled around inside his coat, slowly pulling out his pistol. His hand shook as he carefully laid it on the table. The door behind him was quickly closed and he could hear the deadbolt click in place. He gulped.

"What do you want?" Jason swept the gun off the table with one hand and slammed Smith face down onto the table with the other. He kept his gun jabbed into Smith's back.

"Richard Webb," Jason said tersely. "You knew him?"

"Yes?" was the pained reply.

"How?"

"We worked together. On Treadstone."

"You had him killed, didn't you?"

There was no response from Smith, only silence separating heavy breaths.

"Did you?" Jason repeated, louder.

"I remember you, you're David Webb. You're his son."

"Answer the question, dammit!" Jason moved the gun up towards his neck and pressed harder, forcing a cry from Smith. "Did you have Richard Webb killed?"

"Are you here to kill me, Jason?" he asked calmly.

Jason grabbed the back of Smith's collar and spun him around, heaving him onto the floor. Bullet connected with flesh as Jason pulled the trigger on Smith. He cried out in pain and grasped his leg, trying to stop the bleeding. An effective answer.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did or did you not have Richard Webb killed?"

Smith stared back at Jason and gulped again before finally hissing a strained reply. "Yes."

Even though Jason was interrogating Smith for answers, he didn't actually expect Smith to admit to anything. The admission took him aback, and he paused to recollect himself. He lowered the gun slowly.

"Why?"

"Because of you," Smith returned.

"Because of me?" Jason asked incredulously.

"He didn't want you in Treadstone and was planning to expose us. He had to be removed."

"So why is Dewey after me?"

At the mention of Dewey's name, Smith went strangely silent. He took a deep breath, almost as if to accept the situation and his apparent impending doom at the hands of Jason Bourne. At that moment, Jason's phone buzzed with an incoming message from Nicky. Careful to not let Smith take advantage of the distraction, he raised the gun again.

 _CIA team incoming. 5 agents._

He pocketed his gun and grabbed Smith under his arms, dragging him across the floor and leaving him against a wall. He drew his pistol again and pressed it into his chest.

"There's a CIA team coming in and they're going to kill you when they find out what you told me. Tell me how Dewey fits into this and I'll get you out alive."

Smith glared at Jason and gritted his teeth but realized he had no choice. Jason was right. He had known for some time now that Dewey had placed a surveillance team on him, and he knew it was not beyond Dewey's style to kill him to prevent an information leak.

"Dewey...he worked with us too. We agreed that Richard would cause too many problems in the end. Dewey was the one who coordinated the hit. Dewey heard rumors about you..." Smith trailed off, and his eyes began to drift shut.

"Rumors about me and what?" Jason was puzzled and began to panic as he tried to shake Smith awake. It seemed to work for a bit, but Smith was quickly falling unconscious. Jason cursed under his breath and tried to help keep pressure on his wound.

Smith seemed to get quieter and quieter. "Dewey said...he thought that you were...rumor said that you..."

"That I what?" Jason shouted at him.

Suddenly a name surfaced in Jason's mind.

"Durham..." Jason murmured under his breath. Blinding white light seemed to invade the corners of his vision. He used to feel this every time he was on the verge of remembering something about his past.

"What?" Smith looked confused.

"Durham. I remember another name. I talked to him before Treadstone. Did you work with him? Who is Durham?"

Before Smith could answer, the door burst open and agents swarmed into the room. Gunfire exploded and Jason dove for cover behind a shelf. Jason fired several rounds towards the agents to try to ward them off. He could hear a loud shout and Smith crying out in pain once more. He looked over and Smith lay unmoving against the wall, breathing stilled. Smith's head sank to his chest and a blood seeped through his shirt. He was dead.

Jason popped up from behind the shelf and quickly shot down two of the agents. A third agent continued to fire on the shelf, causing Jason to curl up into his corner and make himself as small as possible. There was a break in the gunfire, and Jason took his opportunity to charge the agent. Jason grabbed the front of the rifle and savagely kicked out the inside of the agent's knee, forcing him to kneel. Jason wrestled with the rifle, smashing the butt of the stock up into the other man's chin and jaw. Taking the rifle from the man, he took aim at the fourth man and fired, sending him to the floor instantly. In his peripheral vision, the last man stood in the doorway, weapon ready. Before Jason could fire, a gunshot sounded, and the other agent went down. Nicky stood in the doorway, pistol in hand.

"Smith?" she asked.

Jason shook his head. "Dewey's men killed him because he confessed."

"What did you find out?"

"Smith and Dewey plotted against my father and had him killed. My father found out that Smith was trying to recruit me and he wouldn't let them. They killed him because they didn't want him to get in the way. They killed him because of me."

"No, Jason, don't do this to yourself," Nicky said firmly. She stepped into his gaze forcefully. "Your father wanted a different life for you. You can't blame yourself for his death. He knew what he would be sacrificing."

Nicky holstered her gun and grabbed Jason's hand.

"Come on, we need to go."

They walked outside at a brisk pace, careful to not be slowed down by the crowd that began to form outside the apartment lobby. Gunfire in broad daylight in a crowded residential area tended to attract a lot of unwanted attention. They were about to continue down the sidewalk when a car pulled up in front of them with the door opened. Jason quickly grabbed Nicky's arm and spun her around facing the other way, but a voice called out from the car.

"Jason, get in." The voice was all too familiar to Jason and Nicky, and Jason obliged. They got in the car.

"What do you want?" Jason snapped.

"Jason, I heard that you just talked to Malcolm Smith."

"Why are you here? Did Dewey put you up to talking to me?" he asked accusingly.

"No," Heather responded carefully. "He doesn't know I'm here. I've been monitoring his operations."

"Then you must have heard that Malcolm Smith is dead," Jason said darkly.

"I know. He told you about Dewey and your father, didn't he?"

"Then what do you want from me?"

Heather sighed, "I need your help."

"Why should I help you?"

"Dewey killed your father. You may act like you don't care, but I know what you want. He's planning an assassination of a CIA official and trying to make it look like the work of terrorists. He's cut off most of my resources and I can't stop him alone. You want Dewey gone, same as me."

"Are you asking me to kill the Director of the CIA?" Jason scoffed.

"No. I'm asking you to catch him. Look, I hear the rumors too. I know that the Inspector General's office is putting together an indictment, but it'll take too long to do anything. This is what the Beta Programs are meant for: cutting out the red tape in crisis handling."

"I thought you didn't believe in the Beta Programs," Nicky quipped.

"I believe in you, Jason, and right now I need your help. The target is from the Inspector General's office and he's friends with Pam Landy. If not for me, do it for her. His name is Peter Durham."

Jason looked up, stunned. Peter Durham.

"Durham..." he whispered.

"What?" Nicky asked.

"I know him."

"What? How do you know him?" Heather seemed genuinely confused.

"I don't know how, I just do! I talked to him."

"When?" Nicky asked.

"Before Treadstone. I think I did work for him back in the Army. He must have been a former commander of mine or something."

Heather was taken aback. "Before Treadstone? That's impossible. Ten years ago, Durham was still in the CIA. He never ran anything for the Army, or even Army recruitment. His file says-"

"But I remember! I remember talking to him, reporting to him. It's there...well not all of it, but I remember him!" Jason grew increasingly frustrated.

"Reporting to him? No...it can't be true." Heather said softly.

"What can't be true?" Nicky replied.

"The rumors...it was you? All this time?" Heather shook her head in disbelief.

"Rumors?" Jason's eyes narrowed. "Smith mentioned that Dewey heard rumors about me. Are you talking about the same ones?"

Heather nodded hesitantly and glanced between the two in the back seat.

"Jason, what's going on?" Nicky asked, worriedly.

"Ten years ago, when Treadstone first was founded, there was a rumor that there was a mole inside Treadstone, feeding information to the Inspector General's office. Conklin, Abbot, and Dewey were all under secret investigation. It was just a rumor, but it scared a lot of people in charge. No one knew where the rumors started or who was behind the operation, but Dewey always suspected that it was Durham. Jason, if you remember talking to Durham before Treadstone, it means you're the mole."


	7. Chapter 7 - Contingency

**A/N: It's finally here! Took a while, but I hope the wait was worth it. Please feel free to leave reviews! It helps when I have feedback and hearing you readers enjoy my work is always a nice morale booster. Favorite and follow too if you'd like! Finals season in college is also upon me, but I'm hoping to squeeze out another chapter before Easter. Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Contingency**

* * *

"No... that's impossible," Jason murmured.

"Jason, it doesn't matter. The Director just issued a standing kill order on Peter Durham. If you want to find out the truth about your past, you need to rescue Durham."

"Then give me intel."

"I don't have time to give you a full briefing but everything is in here." Heather handed them a flash drive. "I stole this off of Dewey's personal computer. I'll drop you off at your old apartment. I need to go back to Smith's."

"What for?"

"I've been sent by Dewey to personally collect all of his files after he was to be killed."

"You said Dewey didn't know you were here!" Jason burst out.

"He doesn't know I'm here with you, and I'd very much like to keep it that way."

"Hang on," Nicky interjected. "You knew that Smith was going to be killed and you didn't mention it to us?"

"I was going to tell you in Nixa, but Jason didn't look like he wanted to talk," she replied dryly, recalling how Jason had refused to even take her card. "I asked for your help and you weren't interested. Stroke of luck that Landy told you instead."

Heather pulled up to the front of Jason's old apartment. One look out the window and he was already overwhelmed with deja vu. It had been years since he visited his old home. The doors unlocked and Heather pulled the shifter to park. She turned around as Jason began to open the door.

"No hard feelings, but if you want me to keep bailing you out with information, you had better get on my team. I already cleared the flags on your passports, so you shouldn't have problems getting through customs. Contact me when you get back in the states."

The car sped off, leaving Jason and Nicky in front of the apartment. Nicky watched the car drive off into the distance and make a turn at the end of the block. Jason was still staring at the front gate of his apartment. Nicky sensed something was wrong and wrapped her hand around his. Jason snapped out of his reverie and looked back at her. Nicky understood why he hesitated to go inside. If she had to bet, she guessed the memory of Marie still lived on in this place, where they first decided to go on the run together. But something else told Nicky that Marie wasn't the only reason Jason was hesitating. Abbot was almost right in a twisted way when he said that Jason had killed Marie by simply walking into her life. And now here he stood at his apartment once more, now with Nicky. He had already placed her in so much danger...

"Just a quick stop for supplies and then we'll get a cab to the airport," Nicky offered. Jason nodded silently.

Even though it had been years since the apartment was occupied, rent was still being paid on the building. Treadstone had paid for most of an asset's expenses, and that included room and board. After it was shut down, finances were managed by Blackbriar, which eventually handed down all accounts to Ironhand. With the account being automatically billed, no one had bothered to poke around into the past transactions, since they were all under the label 'Treadstone'. The landlord had changed a few times over the past decade, and Jason's apartment grew a reputation that didn't permit anyone to enter it's doors under the assumption it was haunted or something else superstitious. As long as rent was coming in, the owners really didn't care.

As a result, Jason's old apartment served as a safehouse for Nicky, which surprised him when she pulled a key from her pocket. On various occasions while on the run, she would sometimes return to Paris, where Jason lived and she had been stationed. After spending so much time on the run she was tempted to move in permanently, but wisely decided against it, knowing that more time spent in one place meant more chances to catch her. Every now and then she would indulge her comfort and familiarity, but never for long stretches at a time.

Jason was taken aback by the spartan interior of the apartment. When he lived here years ago decor was lacking, to put it mildly. But coming back years later and finding it even more bare than he had left it stunned him. Bookshelves were empty, walls were bare, counters were clean, windows were covered. The only indication that life existed in this apartment was the cluttered desk. A small server stack sat atop the modestly sized desk, humming contently. Nicky went up to the desk and pulled out her phone, scrolling through it. After a brief moment she nodded and pocketed her phone.

"The house is clean."

"You live here now?" Jason inquired.

"No. I use this place as a safehouse. I have a rotation so that I'm never in one place for more than a month."

"How many agencies want you?"

"Try all of them."

"Having friends like Christian Dassault will do that to you."

Nicky let out a dry chuckle and shook her head.

"Why?" Jason asked. Nicky looked up, taken aback by the one word question. "Why did you do it?"

"Help him?"

"Him and me."

"It felt right I suppose. After what I had done in the Program."

Jason opened his mouth in a silent "Ah." and nodded in acknowledgment. He supposed he understood what she meant. The lead ball of guilt dragged and tugged at the heavy chain attaching Jason Bourne to David Webb. He could not separate the two, no matter how much he tried. His only recourse was to accept Bourne and make him as human as possible. He had forced Bourne to apologize to Irena Neski and Marie's brother. But what good had come of it? Irena remained without parents, and Marie's family, however disjointed, was even less whole than before. He had to make amends some other way. Taking down Blackbriar wouldn't change the past but it could change the future. How many lives could have been saved if he had been successful the first time he would never know. Nicky had picked up where he left off. The same mission, different methods. He could scarcely blame her for doing what she did, but the protective instinct that autonomously manifested itself whenever he was with Nicky showed up once more.

"Nicky, I can't let you come with me."

"Wait, Jason, please don't try to do this again. Let me-"

"No!" he barked, louder than he wanted. "No," he repeated softer. "There's every chance that this is a trap, there are too many uncertain variables, you're still injured, I just... I can't focus on the mission and protect you at the same time, even if I tried."

"I can take care of myself. In case you forgot, I've been running on my own the past 10 years without your help."

"This is Ironhand! I made this mistake with Marie, and –" he stopped in his tracks, instantly regretting his words that summoned his memories of Marie, and with them the guilt he felt. He took a breath to regain composure. "I dragged her into my fight and she died. I brought you into my fight, and you almost died. I'm not risking you again."

Nicky stepped forward, literally unwilling to back down. "This is my fight just as much as it is yours. I'll be damned if I don't help you somehow."

Jason ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Nicky, I can't do this –"

"Can't do what?" she pressed.

"I can't lose you again!" he let out suddenly.

"And if I lose you, what then? What happens when I'm on the sidelines and it's too late? You're not invincible, Jason. I'll stay back and out of sight, but just let me help you. You're not alone. We're in this together, all the way to the end."

She was determined. Stubborn, even. Jason's mind raced to produce a logical answer that would force Nicky to see his reasoning. For one, she was still injured. Compared to an ordinary CIA goon, she would stand a solid chance of survival, but the potential of a close quarters encounter with Sebastien or any other Ironhand asset spelled a quick and certain death. Jason feared that even he may be unable to fight off an Ironhand asset in his current age and weathered condition. Combat aside, any other party brought into a mission would divide his focus on personal survival. Fighting an entire army by himself was hard enough, but if he had to protect Nicky at the same time, it could mean the end for both of them. His logic was sound and led to one conclusion, to not bring Nicky into the field.

But when he looked into her eyes he realized he saw more than the razor sharp logistics coordinator who had a desk job. He saw the woman who had outrun an asset in unfamiliar territory, who had risked her life just to afford Jason an open shot at Desh, who had with barely any training run dangerous field operations for 10 years. He saw Nicky, who had taken a bullet for him, stood back up, and fired back. He relinquished his overprotective hold on her and with it, some guilt.

"On one condition: if I'm in danger don't try to rescue me."

"Fine."

* * *

Meetings killed his soul metaphorically, and with a certain twist of fate sprinkled with irony, would kill him physically. According to the file intercepted by Lee, Peter Durham was to be picked up by a personal driver after his meeting with other agency officials. Driving down the expressway, he was to be assassinated by sniper fire from a nearby rooftop at the end of the street. Heather knew that Dewey assumed Jason would talk to Durham after regaining some memory. Any information Durham potentially had on Dewey needed to be disposed of. Saving Durham was not only a point for the side of freedom, it was a point for her too. That paranoid old man had to be removed, and who better to take his seat than a budding young Heather Lee who really understood the future of intelligence?

Jason had resigned to go into the field with Nicky, but he wanted her as far from danger as possible. She had checked into a nearby hotel that overlooked the same street, but was out of range of the sniper. She was scanning radio frequencies and was to be his eyes in the sky. Once again, she was coordinating logistics for his operation, but things were different now.

She checked her watch: 1:47PM. The meeting started at 1:30PM and she had estimated an hour for the meeting. Her nervousness made radioing Jason a knee jerk reaction, but decided against it. He would contact her if he made contact with the asset. She needed to trust him.

Jason made his way across the lobby to the elevator and pressed the top floor. Instincts told him that if he was to perform an assassination, he would take the stairs to avoid being seen. He needed to rely on the element of surprise, and didn't want to risk an early encounter with Sebastien. The elevator reached the top floor and he made his way down the hallway looking for a maintenance door.

Nicky looked out the window with her binoculars and scanned the faces of the men outside. The binoculars were linked up to a computer with facial recognition software in case Nicky couldn't recognize the faces walking through the doors. The computer was also linked in to the hotel security cameras where Jason would be waiting for the asset. The computer had been scanning tirelessly, but neither had popped up.

Jason found the maintenance door at the end of the hall and checked for signs of someone else tampering with the lock. None presented themselves, and he proceeded cautiously. The stairwell going to the roof was dimly lit and reeked of old cigarette smoke. Jason stepped out onto the roof, weapon drawn. He looked around the roof and saw nothing. The whole roof was an empty expanse, save for the stairwell that provided the only protrusion on the entire roof. No sign of Mathys. He decided to radio Nicky.

"I'm on the roof but there's no sign of Sebastien."

"I don't see him here on the ground either," Nicky replied.

"Keep looking," Jason ordered.

Jason looked around the entire roof and found nothing. He walked all the way to the edge of the roof where the asset would have been set up to take the shot facing the street. He peered over the edge onto the fire escape below, but even then, there was nothing. No sign of Sebastien, or anyone else for that matter.

"Do you see anything?" Jason radioed Nicky after spending a while waiting in hiding on the roof. His watch said it was almost 2:30. In a few minutes the meeting would be over and Durham would be assassinated, but there was no sign of the assassin.

"No," Nicky responded.

"Scan the hotel windows and tell me if you see anything."

Nicky took another pair of binoculars and faced the opposite direction. Her eyes snaked along the windows, from side to side all the way to the top, looking for an open window or a sniper on the fire escape. Still nothing.

"I'm not getting anything."

"He should be here."

"Jason, I don't like this..."

"He'll be here."

The glare from the reflective coating on the windows was distracting to say the least. Every glint of sunlight looked like the reflection of a sniper rifle scope, and Nicky found her eyes darting back and forth between all of the shimmering lights. She looked away and closed her eyes for a few moments, and greenish spots dotted her vision where she had been staring into the light for too long. She returned her gaze. Her mind resolved itself to finding the sniper, and she began to systematically go through each of the windows starting from the top.

"Did you find the sniper?"

"No. Did you find anything?"

"No, nothing! It doesn't make sense! Why would Heather lie to us? Everything else in the file was true."

"Hang on," Nicky said, ignoring Jason.

A few stories from the top there was a single frame that didn't reflect the image of the building opposite it. That one rectangle was slightly offset, breaking the reflected logo at the middle. As Nicky zoomed in on it, she saw that the window was slightly ajar, and the barrel of a rifle protruded from the opening.

"Jason, I got him. Sniper 3 floors down from the roof, 4 windows from the east side."

Jason ran back to the stairwell and hurriedly ran down the 3 flights of stairs. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as his feet echoed down the concrete steps. He threw open the door and nearly bowled over a surprised hotel cleaning lady. He made his way to the end of the hall but realized he couldn't simply count the windows as the number of rooms. Some rooms would undoubtedly have several windows, but he didn't know how many to count. He was out of time. A bright red fire alarm sat conveniently on the wall, and he pulled it. Flashing lights went off and the sirens sounded. Frightened guests began to pour out of their rooms, save for one room that remained unopened. The rooms adjacent were both evacuated. He peered into one of the open rooms and saw that each room was allocated 2 windows. Forth window from the east made it the second to the last room in the hall. Sure enough, the second to the last room was still closed while its adjacent rooms were open. Jason stood off to the side of the doorway and produced the card key he had picked off of the cleaning lady when he bumped into her.

The lock beeped quietly, and lucky for Jason, was drowned out by the fire alarm and commotion. His hand pushed the door open as slowly as possible, just enough to clear it from the bolt housing.

 _Durham was out of time._

With a vicious kick he opened the door and drew his weapon. As Jason scanned the room, he found a rifle propped up on a table by the window, barrel pointed outside. The scene was eerily still. The placement of everything seemed too perfect.

 _This was all wrong..._

Did he radio Nicky? Everything within him begged him to tell her that something wasn't right, but if this was a trap, he couldn't afford to let slip the fact that Nicky was here with him, helping him.

 _Movement_.

Jason instinctively spun back with his outstretched palm and made contact with a gun. The asset grunted. Jason realized that this was not Sebastien, but a different asset. A few more strikes to his forearm and he dropped his gun. But with his hands now free, he grabbed Jason's gun hand and twisted back, trying to get Jason to relinquish his hold on his weapon. Jason struggled against him but leverage gave the asset the upper hand. Just as he was about to lose control, he ejected the magazine and kicked it across the room, and the other man's eyes followed.

 _Mistake_.

Jason took the momentary distraction to swing his elbow up in a deadly uppercut, catching him square on the chin. Gun in hand, Jason reached back and sliced forward, hoping to land a blow on his head. Too predictable however, as the asset's hand went up to block the strike. He answered with several punches to Jason's exposed side and ribs, causing him to stagger back and drop the gun. For a brief moment, the two assassins were separated and both swayed back and forth in their ready stances, waiting for a gap in the other's defense to fall. The asset feinted a few strikes and Jason responded by backing up and replying. The other man finally threw a real punch at Jason's jaw, which he deflected and dodged. In the split second that he was still recovering from his failed strike, Jason struck out at his inner knee. It buckled as he cried in pain, and he retreated with his other leg, but not before Jason grabbed both his shoulders and planted his own foot behind the asset's retreating foot. Jason spun into his outstretched foot and pushed him, causing him to lose balance over Jason's leg and crash into the ground, hard. With a hand still on the asset's shoulder, Jason drew back and crashed his fist across the man's jaw once, twice, three times, before he blocked and tried to shove Jason off his chest. Jason grabbed the hand used to shove him off, and rolled sideways off of him, bringing the asset's arm across his body and rolling him onto his stomach. Jason's legs anchored themselves on top of the prone man's back, and Jason wrenched upwards with his hands while arching his own back, hyperextending the asset's arm and with a crack, dislocating it. He screamed, in pain. Jason moved his foot off of his back and jammed his heel into the asset's throat, crushing his windpipe. He began to thrash about as his oxygen depleted, but Jason held steady. About a minute later, the asset lay still.

A cell phone rang, and Jason realized it must have been the asset's. A quick search of his pockets produced a small cell phone. The number was blocked, but Jason guessed it was his handler asking for a status update. He opened it.

"Hello, Jason. You really have a way with interfering in my plans, don't you?" It was Dewey.

"From what I remember, that was kind of my job," Jason replied casually.

"It sure is. Fortunately, my job is in the intelligence department, so I always have a contingency plan."

A loud explosion drew Jason's attention to the window, and he ran to it. On the street below, a massive fire had started in the street. Thick black smoke was pouring from the windows of a car that Jason assumed had to be Durham's. The explosion had stopped other cars around it, backing up traffic for quite some ways. Internally, Jason was furious and frustrated. He had let Durham die, and with him his only source that might reveal something about his past.

"Jason, if you remembered who Durham really was, what he did to you, you would be trying to kill him too. Why don't you come in so that we can talk this over, you know, clear the air between us? But not now, I'm in the middle of an operation."

"What he did?"

"Like I said, come in and we can sort this whole mess out. All I want is to talk."

"How can I be sure it's not a trap?" Jason pressed.

"I suppose you can't. There seems to be a misunderstanding between us, you seem to think I want to kill you. No, no, that's not it at all. I want to recruit you, so that we can continue the work we were doing before."

"And what was Greece? Another misunderstanding? I'd die before working with you," Jason spat angrily.

"Have it your way, then. But you'll be seeing things my way pretty soon, Jason. I left a package for you in the hotel mailroom as a token of good faith. I hope it will change your mind about me."

"Don't bet on it."

* * *

"Jason, what the hell happened?" Nicky exclaimed, worried. "Coms went down and I couldn't tell what was happening."

"I'm fine, but Dewey was prepared for us. The plan was never to assassinate him at range, it was always a car bomb all along. It looks like Heather was fed false information, or maybe she lied intentionally. Either way, we can't trust her now."

"What's that?" she asked gesturing to the briefcase Jason was carrying under his arm.

"A present from Dewey. He said it would change my mind about him, make me realize that Durham needed to die."

He moved his hand to the latch but Nicky quickly covered his hand with hers. "Wait! How do you know the case is clean?"

Jason didn't answer as he flipped the latches and opened the briefcase.


End file.
